Living the Lie
by MixedBreedMaiya
Summary: The worlds have been reunited for some time now, and all is well - except that the Circle has a new recruit; one that's familiar to the Lezareno's own president. But she doesn't remember him, and he must help to bring her back as they expose a larger scheme and her unfortunate role in it. The madman must be stopped - for everyone's sake. RainexRegal
1. Prologue

Hello, and thank you for taking a look at my latest project. As some of you might have noticed, it has the same title as another fic I started over a decade ago. This is because I'm rewriting that story from the ground up, using the last eleven years of practice and life experience to do it much better justice than I could at, y'know...sixteen.

Raine: Good Goddess Martel in Heaven, we're back to _this_?

Raine! Welcome back!

Raine: _Really_? You just couldn't leave it alone and let it die?

Never! I've been writing this story for a very long time, and it will never die! xD So, readers, please enjoy this reboot, and if you want to see how far I've come (and cringe hardcore at the first half of it), I'm leaving up the original at least for now. It's a nice before-and-after. Here goes!

* * *

"Do you understand?"

"...Yes."

"Good. We can't afford to have you fail."

Raising an eyebrow, she watched him turn and retrieve a long, thin box that was leaning against the wall. This he handed to her, and she accepted it a little curiously into gloved hands. "What's this?"

"Well, we can't very well send you unarmed on your first assignment." The smile he offered was more an unattractive sneer, but it was probably as close as he ever got. "If you'll open it, you'll find your weapon of choice."

She looked from him to the parcel and back before she did as he suggested and removed the lid. A blink, and she lifted that weapon to hold it in one hand and inspect it. "A staff," she observed. It was sturdy wood, polished to perfection and hefty in her grasp. The top formed a curved fork, in the middle of which was suspended a gem the color of her violet eyes. It hadn't come cheap, that was certain. "...A very nice staff."

"Indeed. Only the finest tools for one of our most promising agents. I'm sure you'll find it more than sufficient to get the job done."

"Undoubtedly."

It was difficult to tell if the expression with which Claw regarded her was smug and self-satisfied or meant to be friendly. She didn't much care for it either way, particularly when he took a step closer to her. Quietly, she sized him up. Dirty blond hair cropped, a little unevenly, at his chin; no taller than she was, but scrawny and pitiful in build, like he had never seen any of the action into which he was sending her.

But then, she mused, he probably hadn't. He liked to fancy himself important, the right hand of the Circle, but it was people like her that really made the difference. People who did more than posture; people willing to get their hands dirty, just like she was finally going to get to do again.

"You know," he purred, "I can be quite an ally to you in this uncertain time. After all, we understand each other."

She held back a snort and instead regarded him through half-lidded eyes. "Is that so?" A smirk just barely tugged at one corner of her mouth, but he went on as if she hadn't spoken.

"We're a lot alike. I think we'll be good friends when you're all sorted out—"

It was her turn to take a step forward, and she placed her face right in his. She did not like the implications there, as if he thought to take advantage of what had happened. She knew better, though. Even if she hadn't been warned, she was astute enough to learn by observation.

"Let's get one thing straight right now. I'm _not _like you, and we're not friends." There was some satisfaction in watching even the semblance of a smile drop from his face at the challenge in her own. "I know all I need to about you, and no amount of sweet-talk is going to make me think of you as anything but the alleycat you are."

He narrowed his eyes, but she hadn't missed the furtive glance he sent over his shoulder in response to her sudden proximity. "Careful, Flare. You wouldn't want to make an enemy of a superior."

"You may outrank me, but you're far from 'superior.' All you do is pass notes, and I can think of several people who would thank me for running you off. You may have your Second, _Cat's Claw_, but my guess is it's to pacify your ego and keep you from whining more than usual." It wasn't lost on her that she had only one name; only the most seasoned and valuable agents had two. That was her goal, though, and she fully intended to reach it.

After letting her defiant gaze linger a moment longer, she finally turned away to leave. But what he said next made her steps slow again.

"Nameless waif," spat Claw, and she knew what he meant. It had nothing to do with her Second, and like a spring it coiled around her spine. Her fingers twitched, but she kept her back to him and let him continue. "You will never belong here. You have no past, and without it, no future. How can you be anything to Fang when your very self is gone, likely for good? Tell me, how does it feel to stand alone without even memory to comfort you?"

Flare slowly turned her head, and though her elfin features were smooth and calm, an icy mask, there was fire in her eyes as they stared through a thin veil of silver hair. "You're wrong," she countered coolly. She had memories. Just...not many of them. She turned around at last and came back toward him, noting the way he shifted back ever so slightly, until she could thrust the empty box into his chest and set her new toy against her shoulder. "But as far as insults go...do keep working on it."

This time when she spun, she kept walking, shoulders squared and head held high. It was a sore subject, true enough. But really, she tried to reason with herself, what did it matter? So she couldn't remember more than a tormented childhood before waking up here. So she didn't even remember her real name—she didn't need it anyway; none of them did. Whoever and whatever they were before the Circle was irrelevant. And everything else...

Well...

It would come.

* * *

Thanks for reading, and maybe consider tossing a review my way as you wait for the next installment.

Raine: I can't believe we are back here again. Someone, please, stage an intervention. Quickly, before it's too late.

Oh, hush. 'TIl next time!


	2. Chapter 1

Hi there! Welcome to chapter one of the reboot. It's a really interesting experiencing, drawing from the old while making it into something new. Hope you like!

* * *

Away from the glitter and glamour of a lively resort, or the daily corporate grind, or tricky matters of court, there was...peace. Sometimes that peace came in the form of a good night's rest after a long day. Sometimes it came in a cup of tea and a few minutes to just sit. Today, it came in a temperate day, a gentle sea breeze, and solitude in a vibrant rooftop garden.

Drawing a deep breath, Regal Bryant opened his eyes to look out over the ocean surrounding Altamira and leaned forward on the low stone wall. From the terrace atop his company, the view was unspoiled, and when he needed a moment away from endless paperwork, it was here he retreated. The fresh sea air did wonders to clear his head. Up here, it felt like nothing at all could be wrong with the world.

The years that had passed since the reunification of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla had seen changes in more than just geography. For one, hair that had once been wild and unkempt had been trimmed by a few inches and combed back into a neat braid tied, as ever, with an old pink ribbon he just couldn't seem to part with. But while he still held onto such mementos, and while he still tended very avidly, all by himself, to this garden once so loved by a sweet young girl, these were the only outward signs of a past he had finally, finally been able to accept. The shackles he had worn for sixteen years were gone, and though he would carry her memory to the grave and never forget it, he now looked to the future. A future which, on days like this, seemed nothing but bright and promising.

After a few moments of letting his mind wander, at last Regal straightened up. He rolled his shoulders once to stretch out the muscles, bowed his head slightly toward Alicia's monument, and ambled into the elevator to descend back into the artificial lights and quiet buzz of his company.

His aged vice president and right hand was in his office when he stepped in. "George," he greeted amiably as he slipped out of his suit jacket and hung it on the stand near his desk. Their relationship had been strained, no doubt, but the Lezareno had been well taken care of by this man for a very long time, and for that, at least, he was grateful.

"Ah, Master Regal," George returned with a small, slightly stiff bow. As his employer took a seat, glancing over the papers on his desk, he came forward and held out an envelope. "A letter has arrived from Iselia."

Regal sat a little straighter and took it, brow raised. "Colette?" Turning the envelope over in his grasp, he softened into a small, fond smile at the handwriting he recognized. He didn't hear much from the rag-tag troupe of other misfit heroes, but the one person he could count on for consistent correspondence was Sylvarant's own little angel. Her letters generally contained nothing but good tidings, small-town happenings, and sweet inquiries after his own wellbeing. Sometimes there was the bonus of some news on the others. Just last month, she had enthusiastically written of a visit from the elusive Lloyd himself.

It really was a shame they didn't see each other, he thought wistfully as he used the ornate blade on his desk to slit open the letter. Maybe a reunion was in order. It wasn't like Altamira didn't have its share of parties, and he would be more than happy to play the role of host for something that didn't involve the Tethe'allan court. Sometimes it was lonely here, with only Presea's occasional comings and goings. Perhaps he would float the idea to Colette when he returned her note.

Though there was _one _young woman in particular he recalled quite well who, without a rheaird, might be difficult to sell on the idea of a beach-side gathering...

"Thank you, George," he offered distractedly with a vague nod toward his colleague, scanning over Colette's delicate writing. His smile twitched a little wider. Even from oceans away, her joy was positively contagious. The years, he was very glad to say, had also been good to her.

"Of course. Would you like me to do anything else for you, sir?"

"Hm?" He glanced up again. "Ah." Regal took a look around and with his free hand picked up the top packet of papers to inspect it briefly. "I have the budget proposal, yes?'

"Yes, sir. And the hotel has asked that you review the renovation timeline for the third floor shops."

"Right—I believe..." He set the letter to one side and pawed through another stack until he could bring out a sheet of paper. "Yes. I've already signed off on that, so all that's left is to deliver this to the board." Flipping it around, he handed it to George, who dipped his head as he took it.

"I will see to it personally."

"Good. Thank you. That's all for now; you can go."

"As you say, sir."

Regal reached for the letter to finish reading it, but he paused. "Oh, George." George turned around, and the duke quirked another small smile. "It's a nice day out. When you've dropped that off, I suggest getting some fresh air."

"It's good to see you in such high spirits, Master Regal."

He chuckled. "I've had nothing to dampen them thus far. It's been an altogether uneventful day, and I won't deny I'm just as glad for the quiet. We'll have to tackle that casino issue at some point, but...I daresay it will keep one more day. Go, enjoy the sunshine. I may even follow suit when I'm finished."

Again, George nodded. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Afternoon."

And then he was alone again, left in the company of his own thoughts and the words of a dear friend. He leaned back in his chair to enjoy the letter and the memories it brought up. Though he still had work to do, and he fully intended to d o it, he couldn't deny he was a little preoccupied for a while. That was why, while he did eventually pull himself back into the business mentality and power through several more projects, even the tireless president took a slightly early day.

He did just as he had said, too. After bidding his office staff a good evening, Regal boarded the tram with the notion to take a walk. It was toward the beach he headed; there was no denying the beauty of the bird's eye terrace view, but it still wasn't quite the same as a stroll along the tide.

At this hour, it was a little busy, largely with families. Children ran about, splashing in the low waves or digging in the sand. He had to smile again as he idly linked his hands behind his back and descended the stairs from the boardwalk in front of the hotel. There were places one could go to find solitude if one knew the island as well as he, but sometimes it was nice to see the life that filled his paradise; people enjoying the beaches he himself loved so. Maybe it was a matter of pride. After all, he—

Every muscle went taut, and he half-ducked out of reflex at the sound of a very loud _crack_, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass as it hit the ground. The entire sky lit up for an instant as if by lightning, though there wasn't a cloud for miles. Regal twisted, all contentment wiped from his face to be replaced by a frown of startled concern. The hotel. It had come from the hotel.

At once he turned and climbed back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, until he could stand on the cobblestone. Already a small crowd was gathering, murmurs of alarm and confusion scattered throughout. He used his hand to shield his eyes and looked up. A little trail of smoke coiled out from a broken window on the second floor, and people pointed to it, but from here there didn't seem to be any further movement. Or, thankfully, any active _fire_.

"What the hell happened?" he mumbled. He looked about, but everyone looked as perplexed as he felt. After a moment, he slipped through the crowd, gingerly nudging one little boy out of the way, and entered the hotel.

Inside, the lobby was buzzing as well. At this point, people were scurrying down the stairs, all looking equally panicked and undoubtedly in too much of a hurry to use the elevator. At least people followed emergency procedures, he mused grimly. Regal crossed to the front desk, where several guests and shopkeepers were huddled. They were all speaking at once, and the poor receptionist looked shaken—and at a loss.

"What's going on?"

His voice cut through the chatter, and automatically, people shrank to one side and let him come forward.

The young woman's expression was a mixture of relief and helplessness. "L-Lord Bryant," she squeaked. "I'm so sorry, sir!"

He held up a hand to quiet her apologies. Lowering his voice, he repeated calmly and surely, "What's going on?"

"We...we aren't entirely sure, My Lord—"

"There was an attack on my shop!" This came from one of the bystanders, and Regal looked at him. "Straight out of nowhere, this...this...flash of light! It blew out the window, and half my merchandise with it!"

His frown deepened. An attack? Awfully bold, in the middle of the day and with such a showy display. Though if it had been meant as a statement, it had certainly been _that_.

"...Was anyone hurt?" he asked the gathering in general, and a couple of them shook their heads warily.

"We couldn't tell," a man offered as he held his wife and child close at his side, both of them looking as if they, too, were in shock. "I-it all happened so fast, and there were people running everywhere..."

"Then that's our first priority. Elaine." Again he addressed the receptionist. "Send security to the second floor, and tell them to keep all guests and employees out of the area until further notice." There had never been a bombing in Altamira before, but this was definitely more than a petty theft, and while he hated to admit it, the Lezareno had made its share of enemies through the world. That could easily extend to its holdings. As grim a thought as that was.

Still, he turned to the shopkeeper. "Once we've cleared it, I want you to do a full account of your inventory. If the culprit took anything, I want to know what."

"Yes, Lord Bryant."

"Have everyone who was present interviewed. If there was anything out of place, anything at all, we need to identify it before he can get far." Or strike again, a niggling little voice uttered in the back of his mind.

"Right away, sir."

Regal watched her duck out from behind the desk and then turned around, planting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room himself. They couldn't rule out _anyone_ just yet, no matter how rattled they all looked, but getting to the bottom of this was paramount.


	3. Chapter 2

New chapter! I've been cleared by my beta to post this, so please enjoy!

* * *

Well, that had been easy. Almost too easy—but a win was a win, and particularly on the first mission she could actually remember, she would take it. She had her prize, and while she had no idea _why _Fang wanted a noblewoman's tacky trinket, much less this particular locket, her place was not to question. It was to acquire, and acquire she had. Without anyone the wiser, and even without her shiny new weapon.

Straightening the cuff of her sleeve, Flare glanced over her shoulder toward the bustling, buzzing hotel, and a little smile pulled at her lips. A glance upward showed several uniformed men hovering around the broken window, peering at it in confusion and concern, and she permitted herself a soft chuckle.

The shop had been an easy and convenient diversion; everyone would wrack their brains, trying to figure out the who, what, and why, when all along what really mattered was the _where. _While unwitting guests scurried about in panic over some terrorist attack, she had been floors above, executing the perfect petty theft. And now with everyone looking at each other, pointing fingers, and trying to clean up the mess, no one had even noticed one young woman step off the elevator and make her way straight out the door.

Let the Lezareno chase its tail for a while, she mused. It might be good for Tethe'alla's benevolent tycoon to feel a little fear.

She shook her head and started to walk again, but before she could take more than a step, she collided with someone else hastening across her path. It was like she'd run straight into a moving brick wall, for all the solidity of his frame. With a yelp, she went tumbling to the ground. Flare managed to break her own fall with her hands, but she winced at the jolt sent through her wrists and forearms. "Oww..."

"Goddess—are you all right, Miss?" asked a clearly alarmed man standing over her. She watched his shadow shrink as he lowered into a crouch. "I'm so sorry. I should have been paying closer attention."

"I'm fine," she assured him, albeit a bit flatly. Closer attention, indeed. Probably some brainless tourist. But as she sat back on her calves, rubbing one wrist with the other hand, she finally lifted her grimace to find the idiot who'd bumped into her—and then she stopped with a blink.

Speak of the devil. There in front of her was Regal Bryant himself. The person who owned the hotel she'd just vandalized. The person whose likeness she had studied to the smallest detail before coming.

The one person she had been told, in no uncertain terms by Fang himself, to _avoid_.

Damn it. So much for perfection.

While she watched, frozen and trying desperately to figure out what to do now, his own expression changed after an instant. Recognition entered it, his brow lifted, and he looked positively astounded. "Raine?" he asked in clear bewilderment, though he didn't sound altogether displeased. A smile started to form, and he extended a hand to her. "Is that really you?"

Now it was her turn to frown. Who in the world was "Raine"? Ignoring the offer, Flare pushed herself to her feet and eyed him. She glanced over her shoulder as though for some help, but of course her contact was back at the harbor, waiting for the handoff. There was a prickly sensation crawling along the back of her neck, and her heart pounded away silently.

"I'm...afraid not," she finally told him, keeping her voice carefully level and smooth. She raised a mask of politeness and quirked a little smile of her own as he rose back to his own towering height. She just needed to get out of here, and quickly. The longer this interaction took, the longer he had to make her, and she was not going to be compromised right out of the gate. "You must have me confused with someone else. If you'll excuse me—"

"Come now, Raine," he chuckled. "I know it has been quite some time, but it has not been so long that I would forget you. Admittedly, I wasn't certain at first; you've let your hair grow. It's very becoming. I'm surprised to see you here."

Behind her back, one hand curled into a fist, but she kept that same painted smile, even going so far as to draw her brows together apologetically. The way he was looking at her, like they were old friends and this was all some silly joke, was unnerving. She knew of his reputation for being peculiar, but it seemed "delusional" was a better fit. "I'm really very sorry, sir, but I don't know who 'Raine' is, and I can assure you, we've never met before now. Now, please, I do have to go." She made to step around him, but he took her by the elbow.

A jolt of electricity shot up her arm while her mind hissed another curse, thinking she must have been caught after all, but Bryant looked quizzical now. "Raine," he blinked, tilting his head ever so slightly to one side. "Are you feeling all right?" Something seemed to occur to him, and though he still looked confused, he hesitantly asked in a lowered voice, "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

_I will be_, she thought, _if you don't shut up. _Outwardly, she just narrowed her eyes. "As I told you, I'm not the woman you think I am, and I don't appreciate being detained. Kindly remove your hand before I have the authorities do it for you. I don't know you, I've never had the good fortune to meet you, and my name is not Raine. It's..." Fleetingly, her eyes flicked to the side. There was just half a beat before she said the first thing that popped into her mind: "Kara."

Bryant was searching her face, his eyes intense. Still, after a moment, he slowly loosened his grasp on her arm. She pulled it back and rubbed it absently—and waited for _him _to call security, tensing every muscle in readiness to flee as soon as he made a move. The way he was staring at her, the gears so clearly turning in his head, surely the heist was blown.

"...Forgive me," he said at last as he lowered his hand back to his side. Her brow furrowed for an instant in puzzlement she couldn't quite mask when he took a tiny, fluid step backward. "I must, indeed, be mistaken. Perhaps it's just wishful thinking. Do accept my apologies, Kara." He inclined his head toward her, but there was still something in his gaze that set her on edge; unease, maybe concern, and meaning, as if he were trying through that weighty gaze to convey something in silence.

But he hadn't summoned anyone. He wasn't arresting her.

Was he really...that thick?

Flare glanced over her shoulder again. "Of course," she returned coolly. "No harm done, I suppose. Have a nice day." And then she spun on heel, slipping one hand into a pocket to wrap it around the locket, and tried to keep a normal pace as she left the strange nobleman standing where he was.

Her heart was still beating like a rabbit's a few minutes later when she could finally turn a corner and be certain she was out of his line of sight. No one had pursued, and she fell against the wall behind her with a sigh. Flare drew a hand down over her face and pulled out the necklace to look at it. She had acquired the target—but at what cost? The single most important order on the simplest of all missions, and somehow, she had managed to botch it after all. Direct and prolonged face-to-face interaction with the president of the Lezareno Group, the most influential institution in the world behind the church, and one of the few people she'd seen Fang actually seem threatened by. She closed her eyes and shoved the bauble back into her pocket with a click of her tongue. She'd have no choice but to tell him, and once Claw knew, she'd never live this down.

But she couldn't stay here indefinitely. She had to make the delivery, get back to base, and _pray _she could salvage what remained of her reputation.

Flare took another few breaths to calm herself back down before she finally pushed from the wall and started skulking back toward the harbor. She had almost made it, too, and was finally starting to relax a little, when she found herself quite effectively stopped once again.

She gasped as she was grabbed and yanked into an alleyway behind what smelled like the bait shop. A large hand covered her mouth, and an arm barred itself high across the front of her shoulders, rooting her in place with her back against another body much bigger than hers. She struggled fruitlessly in rising panic until a familiar voice hissed in her ear, "Raine!"

Her expression twisted into incredulity, and she made a muffled sound of disbelief. So much for free and clear. She should have known he wouldn't give up, but if he wasn't sending security after her, what did he _want_?

Angry, she did the only thing she feasibly could do in this very unequal situation: she bit him. Flare felt some satisfaction when he jerked back, and she whirled. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped. "Do you frequently stalk people?"

"Raine, please, calm down," he urged, shaking out the hand she'd bitten. "I meant no harm."

"Calm down?! I was just _assaulted _in an _alleyway_!"

"I'm sorry, but you seemed unwilling to speak candidly in public, so I thought it would be safer here. I want to help—whatever it is, let me help you."

"_What _are you talking about?" she cried quietly, sending a glance toward the harbor. So close... If she was seen talking to this man—_this _man—by her contact, she was done for.

"Tell me what's going on. What are you running from? Does it have to do with what happened at the hotel?"

She froze, her eyes widening a little. Flare could feel a little of the blood drain from her face. "I...don't know what you mean." She nearly cringed at how unconvincing she sounded even to herself, and she knew she wasn't wrong when she saw the look on his face.

He frowned. "It does. Goddess Martel, what have you gotten yourself into? Considering what happened, and where it happened, I believe I have a right to know what's going on."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, nor do I really care to. You are obviously insane, and this conversation is over." One more time, her wrist was caught when she tried to leave, and her heart lodged itself firmly in her throat while her hand fisted around the necklace in her pocket desperately. That eerie familiarity was back in his voice, his posture, and with that and the fact that her cover seemed to be failing spectacularly, she was extraordinarily uncomfortable in this alley.

"I think you do. Now what really happened in the hotel? All we know for certain is that a single shop was targeted and witnesses saw an explosion after a bright flash of—" Bryant stopped, but she wasn't looking at him but rather at the wall, wracking her brain for some sort of out. She saw him straighten by the movement of his faint shadow. "...Light. As if by..."

She didn't have a choice.

"It was..."

She had to get out of here.

"Martel. It was y—"

Bryant broke off with a strangled sound as she turned and thrust her knee straight into his gut. He was bigger, but she'd caught him by surprise, and he fell against the wall, coughing and trying to catch his breath. She used the opportunity to wrench herself free and took off running like a bat out of hell down toward the docks. She nearly tripped a couple of times, and there were a few people she almost plowed right over, but she pushed on, fueled by pure adrenaline.

He knew after all. She wasn't safe anymore. The mission was compromised.

Too easy... She'd never say that again.


	4. Chapter 3

Hey guys. Thanks for continuing to read. Please enjoy this next installment!

* * *

One arm around his middle and still doubled over, Regal staggered away from the wall to stand at the mouth of the alleyway and scan the passersby for any sign of Raine. She was gone, though, vanished, and confused wasn't strong enough a word for how the last few minutes left him. What the _hell _was going on?

At last he was able to straighten up, and he pressed the back of one hand to his mouth briefly as he looked around. If he'd had any doubt at all that she was knee-deep in this, it had very effectively been dispelled by her flight. But that didn't explain why she would have attacked the hotel, or why she wouldn't have given at least some explanation. Raine Sage did nothing without reason, and she wasn't always the most forthcoming woman, and granted, it wasn't the first thing she'd blown up, but his hotel wasn't exactly a human ranch for heaven's sake. And her insistence, despite how well he knew her, how easily he recognized her, that she was not who he thought... That was, perhaps, the most bizarre part of all.

She'd know better. She'd know _he'd _know better. They had never been soulmates, but they'd been friends, and they were both intelligent. So what was going through her mind? What had happened to the Raine he knew?

Regal snapped himself out of the daze and quickly flagged down a dock worker to put word out to all departing ships of her presence. The first thing was to make sure she didn't leave the island, and while he wouldn't have expected her, in her right mind, to voluntarily sail anywhere, she was very clearly willing to take drastic measures—and there was no other way to leave Altamira than by ship. They'd long since returned the rheairds to their rightful owner; she had no choice.

"A...woman, sir?" asked the baffled young man.

"Yes, a woman about this tall, white hair, violet eyes. She's a suspect..." He hesitated. Did he really want to label her a bomber to strangers? He wanted her detained, yes, but not treated as a terrorist. No matter what it looked like. "...In a robbery," he finally finished. "She came this way, and it's a good bet she's going to seek passage off the island. If she gets on a ship, we may lose her for good. I want you to spread the word, quietly so as not to spook her, that she is to be taken in and detained within the Lezareno when she is found."

"Um—understood. I'll get right on it."

With a nod and a clap to the shoulder, the duke let him go trotting down the harbor. He rubbed his jaw. That was something, at least. He still had questions, and if their last conversation was any indication, she wasn't going to want to answer any of them. Still, he had to try. And while he waited for some news of her, he started back toward the hotel to see if there had been any more headway on that front. He knew who the culprit was, but there was still too much he didn't know. Any clue at all as to a motive or agenda would be extremely helpful. Especially if he were going to manage to help her out of...whatever it was.

There was a slightly bigger crowd gathered around the outside of the building now, murmuring and muttering and, likely, gossiping. Staff was outside, cleaning up the broken glass and gathering the goods strewn over the ground. He passed all of these to walk through the doors, intending to finally visit the crime scene himself. Once in the lobby, however, he was greeted by the receptionist from earlier.

"Lord Bryant."

Regal halted there before her. "Elaine. Has everyone been accounted for?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. Security and witnesses concur that no one was hurt."

Well, that was a relief. He didn't need to add bodily harm to Raine's offenses. "Good. And the witness interviews?"

"I think there are just a couple more people to speak to, My Lord."

"Very well. I will be on the second floor. If anyone comes looking for me, please send them up right away; I'm expecting a message."

"Yes, sir."

Just as he was turning to go, a security officer approached him, escorting the man who owned the shop Raine had targeted. "Duke Bryant. We've taken stock of everything, including what was damaged in the blast."

"And? Did anything stand out?"

"Most of what was damaged were several thousands of gald worth of gels."

Regal frowned. Even high-end gels weren't really all that valuable. They added up in quantity, sure, but there was nothing particularly...important about them. "Was anything missing?"

"No, sir. Every item was accounted for. In one way or another," he added a little bitterly.

"That is not quite the case."

At this new, rather unhappy voice, he turned around to find the speaker in an exceedingly well-dressed man several inches shorter than he, and with the entitled look on his face, he struck the duke as an altogether condescending and unlikable man right off the bat, but he schooled his own expression. "I'm sorry, and you are whom, precisely?"

"_Sir _Jarrad Telro," the stranger introduced. He inclined his head, though there was nothing polite about it.

"Telro... Ah, of course. Regal Bryant. A pleasure to meet you." Diplomatically, and with a great deal of practice, Regal extended a hand. He was part of the court, though only recently risen to nobility. That explained his over-the-top clothing and the stiffness in his posture that clearly screamed "trying too hard." Still, he was a guest, and there was no call to be anything but cordial.

Telro looked down at the offer, one eyebrow raised, and when he took it, the grip was weak—and a little clammy. Regal had to exercise considerable restraint to not wipe his palm on his pants afterward. Instead he deliberately wove his fingers together behind his back.

"...Indeed. Duke Bryant, I understand there was an attack on this hotel earlier today."

"Regrettably, yes. We are working diligently to solve the mystery, but thus far it appears to be a simply act of vandalism."

"I would not say that. My wife and I arrived to your...charming resort just last evening. This afternoon, we visited the beach. When we returned to our room moments ago, we found that a certain piece of jewelry was quite missing."

Despite himself, he felt his brow lift. "Jewelry?" he echoed.

"Yes. A locket I recently purchased."

"And you left it in your room when you went out?"

"Naturally. You don't take a precious item like that to a sand pit."

_Naturally_. The utter distaste for this man was expertly hidden behind an attentive frown. He had bigger things to worry about at the moment than some jewel thief, anyway. "...I see. I'm terribly sorry for your loss, sir, and assure you I will have my people look into it as soon as they can. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"I do hope these things are not a _common _occurrence in your town, My Lord. I would hate to think of Altamira as a den of crime."

"Of course. I'm as disturbed as you are," he assured the man coolly.

Telro eyed him up and down. "Indeed," he repeated.

"Sir! Lord Bryant!"

Regal bit back a sigh and just managed not to knead his forehead as yet another person entered the scene, vying for his attention. This was one of his own people, though, dressed in the garb of a Lezareno employee.

"Yes?" he asked wearily.

"We've received word from the harbor, sir. The woman you were asking about has been found. She's being brought to your office as we speak."

Ahah, at last, some good news. Though he could only imagine what Telro was thinking when he glanced toward the other nobleman and saw his eyebrow arch. Not that he cared. He could imagine steamy office romances all he wanted; alienating this particular man wouldn't exactly be a tragedy. But while the thought of requesting Altamira's finest wine be brought to receive her just to complete the picture amused him, he contained at least most of the smile and cleared his throat. "Thank you. I will be there shortly."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir Telro," said Regal, turning back to the unpleasant aristocrat. "I will make your wife's trinket a priority and reach out with any news on the matter. In the meantime, please enjoy another night with us, compliments of the Lezareno Group." And without waiting for the reply Telro opened his mouth to make, he nodded to Elaine and turned to walk right back out of the hotel.

She hadn't taken kindly to their last encounter, and he couldn't imagine being arrested would improve her disposition much, but he didn't really have a choice. If she _was _in trouble, the company was probably the safest place for her, in addition to being able to keep her contained long enough to hopefully have a proper conversation. He knew she would be far from please, though.

And yet, even knowing that, he still had to rely on his extremely quick reflexes when something was hurled straight at him from the other side of the room. Regal jerked to one side and let the paperweight sail by inches from his head to clank loudly against the back wall of the elevator when it opened. "_Goddess._" Cautiously, after peering sideways at the woman standing in front of his desk, he stepped into the room with his hands lifted a little, palms out. "It's just me, Raine."

"You are absolutely certifiable," she huffed. "What the hell am I doing here? And _why _do you keep calling me that?"

"It's just us here, Raine, I promise you." Regal lowered his voice and came a few steps forward before she flung out a hand. He saw mana spark at her fingertips and pulled up, his brow furrowing.

"Don't come any closer," Raine commanded dangerously. "Answer my questions. Why am I here, and who is Raine?"

Slowly, his head tilted and he lowered his hands. He searched her face, and what he found was largely a mixture of anger and fear, but there was something else in it. There was confusion. Real, true, genuine...confusion. The crease in his brow deepened. "Raine, it's... I'm calling you that because it's...your name."

"No, it isn't. I told you, I'm—"

"You're not 'Kara.' Your name is Raine Sage, and you are a dear friend to me, one I'm extraordinarily worried about. Please tell me what's going on."

Something flickered over her face, a sort of discomfort, but she shook her head as though to rid herself of whatever thought had crossed her mind. "I have nothing to tell you, and you have no grounds on which to keep me here."

"Well, that part is not entirely true." She cocked an eyebrow, and despite his own puzzlement, he returned the expression. "Raine, you vandalized the hotel. You blew up a shop and could have seriously injured someone in the process. Now I don't know what's going on, but there must be more to this."

Raine dismissed the forming spell and dropped her hand, regarding him with her icy mask of detachment. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Lie. You use light-based magic. Mainly a healer, your offensive spells are based in the element of light. And short of a bomb or fire, which would not have caused the kind of flash seen by witnesses, that is the only thing that could have caused that damage. I've seen your spells myself, and I know what they look like. It's not a coincidence that you just happen to be here on the same day it happens. I'm not a fool, and I deserve an explanation. I _know _you, Raine. You had a reason, now just tell me what it was. You're acting like you don't even know who you are, and that's..."

He trailed off, watching her. She was eyeing him, but now the confusion he'd noted earlier was more prominent. "You have...no idea who I am," she murmured, shifting one foot back a little. "You couldn't. We've never...met... How could you possibly know I use light magic?"

"I do know who you are, and I'm starting to get the feeling that it's...very different...from who you _think _you are."

Even out loud, the words sounded strange, and his expression was baffled in among the concern. It would explain a great deal, he had to admit, but how could that even be possible?

Her jaw tightened. "Nice try, but I do know who I am, and who I am is not saying another word to you. You don't have any proof, so let me go."

"No."

She narrowed her eyes, but he leveled his sober gaze with hers. "Until we know what's _really _going on, and why you're acting this way, why you don't seem to remember your own name...you're styaing put."

"Like hell I am."

Raine had grabbed the letter opened off his desk and darted toward him as soon as he'd started to turn around, but as he'd said, she was a caster. He was not. Regal whirled and used one hand to send the knife flying from her grasp and the other to grab her wrists. He spun her around, pinning her hands behind her back. The blade was embedded in the adjacent wall, and he glaanced from it back to the woman he had captive against his chest.

That settled it. Raine wouldn't have attacked him, not like that. Not with such clear intent, and not without a very good reason—which, frankly, he didn't think she had.

"I said," he told her calmly, "you're staying put." Being very careful not to actually injure her, he forced her to her knees on the carpet. "Now, I'm leaving you here. The elevator will be disabled and the doors to this room are kept locked. No one will bother you, and there's very little you can do to hurt anything in here. Maybe in the morning we can get to the bottom of this. ...I'm sorry, Raine."

He held her there a moment longer, bent over with her face near the floor. Finally, wincing himself at what he was about to do, he pushed her all the way down so she'd have no easy way to go after him again. Then, moving quickly, he stepped back into the elevator and let the door close behind him. The last he saw was her scrambling back to her feet and spinning around to stare at him, looking positively mortified. But it was for her own good.


	5. Chapter 4

Welcome back! I certainly hope you continue to enjoy this reboot. I know I'm having fun writing it. If you have some time, I'd love to get your thoughts on it. Also, I will be taking down the original in the coming weeks as I progress through the story and replacing it with this version, so if you want to see the before, I encourage you to check it out sooner rather than later. Onward!

* * *

This was a disaster. How had it happened? How could she possibly have gotten herself caught on her _first _time out on a mission this ludicrously _simple_?

Feverishly, Flare paced the room. She had one hand over her mouth, her eyes scanning every inch of this goddess-forsaken office. She'd retrieved the letter opened and held it at her side in her other hand, twirling it in restless idleness. It was comforting to have a weapon—but she had already checked the door, and the tip didn't fit into the lock. Neither did a pen, which was the only other tool she'd turned up thus far. There was no picking her way out, no climbing down the elevator shaft, she didn't have the requisite strength to pry the hinges off the door, and the glass of the windows, even had the office not been a few hundred feet off the ground, far too high to jump, was too thick to break through.

Strange how an executive office could be made into the perfect prison. It might have been funny, if it had been anyone else inside.

With a soft snarl after tugging on the door again to no avail, she tossed the knife to the floor and pressed both hands to her face. Hours had passed, and the sun that had set was starting to creep back up over the horizon. She had turned every inch of the room upside down in search of a key or anything else that might be remotely useful. All she had managed to accomplish was making a mess, though, and while she took some amount of pleasure in trashing the man's office, the papers and books strewn about didn't get her any closer to an escape.

Flare dropped her hands away and wandered over to the window behind the desk. She flattened her palms against it and scowled out over the sea that shone red in the breaking dawn. Closing her eyes, she dropped her forehead down with a clunk and had to resist the urge to beat it repeatedly on the glass.

All those stories of how great she'd been, how clever, how skilled... It was like they were about someone else entirely. Fang had regaled her countless times with tales of a quick-witted, nearly unstoppable agent, but she certainly wasn't that anymore. The accident had taken so much from her, and the first chance she had had to snatch some of it back, she had failed miserably. It was _disgraceful_. She'd said she was ready, and she'd truly believed it. Apparently not.

She curled one hand into a fist and hit it against the window before turning around to lean her back against it instead. It was over, and she knew it. They'd never take her back now—why would they? The Circle needed competence, not liability, and she had crossed every line there was right from the instant she'd let Bryant see her face. She'd be cast out, discarded, or...

Her eyes opened. "Protocol," she murmured to herself. Her gaze fell on the blade in the middle of the floor, and something twisted in her gut. She knew the code. She probably knew it better than most of the order, honestly. But that meant she knew what came next.

Slowly, she drifted toward the center of the room again until she stood right over the knife, staring down at it. She could hear her own heart pounding again as she eased into a crouch and gingerly picked it up. She'd thought about lying in wait for the next person to visit her little prison and quite happily plunging it into their back, but...that wouldn't change reality. Even if she _managed _to escape, at this point, it wouldn't matter.

She'd be killed anyway.

Flare swallowed hard, rising back to her feet. She curled her fingers around the handle so tightly they whitened. Every agent was trained that there were no second chances. A second chance for them was a second chance for the enemy. Even on something as stupid and trivial as this heist, in the end she was still a captive agent of the Circle and known by one of the most important men in Tethe'alla. She herself was a threat to the order, and threats...were to be eliminated. One way or another. Fang knew it. She knew it. And she knew what that meant.

She drew a deep, shaky breath and closed her eyes again for a moment in search of some sense of calm. Sunlight was starting to spill in through the window, and she let it warm her face. The one bit of solace she had was that she had managed to hand over the locket to her contact before she was apprehended. At least she'd seen that part of the assignment through, but it was a hollow victory. It hadn't even been that important of a mission. What did it matter whether a necklace made it back to base?

A small, bitter, mirthless smile twisted her lips. Martyred in the name of running errands. What a way to go. It faded, though, and she opened her eyes to look at her reflection in the glass. He'd trusted her, believed in her... And for what?

"...I'm so sorry," she said. "I tried."

Squeezing her eyes shut one more time, Flare turned away from the window and lifted the blade to rest its edge against her neck. It wasn't the cleanest way, but it was quick. It actually made her angrier to recognize the fear that made her free hand tremble, but she tensed every muscle in preparation. Just a sharp jerk, and that was that. She could manage that much. She was so intent on steeling herself, however, that she completely missed the clacking of the elevator until a new arrival to the scene announced himself—quite dramatically.

"_Stop_!"

There was a crash, but before she could look up and realize what was happening, Bryant lunged. He went straight for the hand at her neck and wrenched it back. The sharp edge nicked her, and she gasped in surprise and pain, but he tore the blade from her grasp and threw it to the side a little haphazardly. She staggered back and lost her balance, just managing to catch herself on his desk. One hand instinctively pressed to the scratch, feeling the warm trickle of blood behind her fingers. She snapped her gaze back to him, almost as sharp as the knife.

"What the hell are you doing?" he exclaimed breathlessly. Every line of his face was a blend of incredulity and horror.

"Fulfilling my duty," she snapped right back. Flare pulled her hand back enough to look at her palm, smeared with red.

"By holding a knife to your own throat? Are you mad, Raine?!"

There it was again, that name. Something about it set her skin crawling again. She hated, loathed the way he said it. He claimed to know her, know more about her than she did, just like everyone else—and the worst part was he hadn't been wrong, at least thus far. She shoved herself up from the desk and faced him head-on. "I told you to stop calling me that. I don't know what delusion you've crafted, but for the last time, that's not me!"

He just kept staring at her, standing in front of the spilled remains of what had probably been meant for her breakfast. "...Then I was correct," he said at length. "You really...don't remember anything."

She tensed. How did he know that? How could he _possibly _know that? "What are you talking about?" she growled.

"Raine... Where have you been the last few years, since the Journey of Regeneration?"

Flare scoffed. "I'm not stupid enough to tell you anything about me. I won't be talking, so you can save your breath."

She was uncomfortable, though, and she shifted under his scrutiny. The way he was staring at her was positively eerie. He looked perplexed, but worried, and the fact that he seemed to know not one but two very personal things about her... It left her floundering. She pressed herself back against the desk, still scowling at him.

"Whatever game you're playing, Bryant," she continued venomously, "I want no part of it. You shouldn't have stopped me."

"From threatening your own _life_?"

Here she looked away, her fingers curling into a tight fist, and her voice fell a little. "You could never understand." It was drastic, true enough, but it was the right path, the only path left, for her to take.

"Try me," he challenged. "You are young, with a future full of promise. What could ending your life possibly accomplish?"

"It will protect the people I care about!" she snapped.

Bryant took a step closer. "All of them?" He didn't so much as blink, just steadily watching her with that same intensity in his eyes. "Because I know of one teenage boy who would be _devastated _to hear of your death."

Teenage...boy? A frown flickered over her face, and he took another step. She had nowhere to go now, but she summoned mana to dance at her fingertips. He seemed wholly unconcerned by this, much to her own unease.

"You don't remember, but I do. Whoever and whatever you think you are, I can promise you, you are not."

Flare glanced to the side, hating the proximity more with every inch he closed between them. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know me," she asserted, but she could feel her heart racing.

"I know you love to read," he countered without missing a beat. "I know you're extraordinarily bright and voraciously curious. I know you can't cook. I know you care deeply for the people close to you but rarely show it. And I know you're smart enough to see there's merit in what I'm saying."

A muscle tightened in her jaw as that same prickly sensation crawled up her neck. How did he know _any _of this? She put out her hand to stop his advance, the mana crackling. "What I see is a deranged, raving nobleman."

"What do you remember of your life?"

She bristled. 'I know who I am," she snarled.

"That is not what I asked."

"It's a stupid question."

He narrowed his eyes. "And one you refuse to answer, which tells me one thing: You don't. Something is very wrong with your memory—so how can you be certain, with all that I know about you and how easily I was able to recognize you, that I am not telling you the truth?"

She searched his unwavering gaze, drawing shallow breaths. Because it was impossible. _Impossible_. Her mind was spinning, darting between the past four months and this bizarre moment. All those stories about her, all the adventures she'd been told she'd had. She didn't remember any of it. So...how _did _she know?

Her hand fell back limply to her side, and her eyes bored into the carpet from beneath a furrowed brow. It just...wasn't...possible...

"Raine."

Her gaze snapped up to find him standing right in front of her now. There was a small, coaxing smile in the corner of his mouth, and she was silent in the face of it. "I can prove it to you. If you give me a chance, we can figure this out together."

Bryant lifted one hand to hover it near her neck, though she shied away. Warmth tickled her skin, and in a few seconds, the sting of the cut had faded. She reached up to touch where it had been and found nothing. After a long moment, she slipped sideways to pull herself away from him and walk back out into the center of the office, her fingertips to her mouth.

What did she do? What could she do? Her duty, as she'd said, was to pick up the blade and finish the job, preferably taking him with her, but while she looked toward it, she made no move to retrieve the weapon from across the room. She _didn't _really want to die, when it came right down to it, but neither did she want to betray everything she stood for. Everything she thought she stood for. And yet something about his words, about the look in his eyes when she turned her head to see him watching her again, made her gut twist.

He knew too many things about her—her magic, her memory, her love of books, and even her utter failure in the kitchen—for it to just be chalked up to a crazy aristocrat. There was a mystery here, and it was _relevant _to her. Somehow. She didn't know how or why, but there was something. She didn't believe him, didn't think she was this "Raine," but... Didn't she deserve to know _why _he knew these things? She was never one to believe in coincidence.

Slowly, she turned back around. Surely, as long as she kept her mouth shut about the Circle, she couldn't hurt anything by _listening_... It had to be better than killing herself, which she could always do later if it became necessary. Maybe she'd even learn something useful about this enemy.

"...Then show me your world," she said at last.

It was time to hear his side of the story.


	6. Chapter 5

I struggled with this one, but I hope you like it! It's probably the most similar to its original counterpart, but hopefully done much better. Enjoy!

* * *

As they walked together along the tide, he kept stealing glances toward her. Regal had his fingers interlaced behind his back, matching her smaller stride with ease. He half expected her to take off running at any minute and wanted to be ready if she did, but thus far, she had stayed by his side. She didn't look at him, though even in profile, he could see the icy mask forming. Whatever was running through her mind clearly weighed heavily on it, but it didn't seem she was inclined to share.

After a stretch of silence, he drew a breath to speak, but it was her voice that broke the stalemate instead.

"...So."

He looked over at her again, but her eyes remained straight ahead. "So?" he prodded.

"I believe I was promised a story. So as much as I enjoy taking long walks on the beach," she said dryly, "why don't you enlighten me? Who is this 'Raine' to you?"

He cocked one eyebrow. "You," he returned quite deliberately, meeting the sideways look she flashed at him, "are a colleague, and I would also consider you a close friend." She snorted and turned her head away again, and he studied her. "...Perhaps this would be easier," the duke finally offered, "if you could tell me what you _do _remember. Then maybe I can fill in the gaps." Clearly her name was among the missing pieces, but what else?

Her lips twisted into a mirthless smile. "That's not how this works, Bryant. You're the one talking, not me. I'm not stupid."

"No... No, you are not." Stubborn, however... That she was. And guarded. Some things hadn't changed. He rubbed his jaw absently. "All right, then..." If it was a story she wanted, perhaps he should start from the beginning, at least as much as he knew of it. He leveled his gaze ahead once more as they continued on, weighing how he might go about this.

"Your name is Raine Sage," he finally began. "You were born in Heimdall, the village of the elves, I'm afraid I don't recall your father's name, as I heard it only once three years ago, but your mother was Virginia—"

"You can skip this part."

He blinked over at her. Her eyes were narrowed, and he was admittedly a little surprised. "I thought it easiest to simply tell you everything. Do you...remember Heimdall, Raine?" he asked, perhaps a bit hopefully. It would at least give him a clue, and it would be good proof of his claims; how else could he possibly know where she was born? Unfortunately, she shook her head.

"No. Nice try, though, I do, however, have memories of _being _a child, so I don't need you to 'fill in the gaps' there. And no," she added flatly, "before you ask, I will not be expounding upon that."

Ever the preemptive striker, he mused, though he found that both peculiar and interesting. Her memory wasn't a clean slate, but it seemed most if not all identifying information was gone. He didn't know enough about the specifics of her childhood to try to test for parallels, though, especially if all she had were vague experiences. And who was to say those memories she had were even accurate? She clearly had a new identity, and it had to have come from somewhere. Without more information from her, this was going to be challenging.

"...I see. In that case, why don't we start with the Journey of Regeneration and the beginning of our own relationship?" he suggested, keeping his frustrations to himself. That, at least, he knew more about. It would be easier to strike a chord. Hopefully.

"If you say so."

"Very well. The first time we met was in Meltokio. The sewers, actually," he added after a beat, a small, wry smile tugging at his own lips at the ludicrous memory. The look on her face was entertaining, he had to admit.

"Sewers," she echoed.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Auspicious beginnings abound with you, I see. Did you assault me there, too?"

He released a soft puff of amusement at the dryness that had wound its way back into her tone despite himself. It was nice to see she hadn't lost her familiar wit. Whatever had happened had robbed her of much, but the certain odd charm she had about her remained wholly intact.

"It wasn't you that time," he returned with a little cheek.

"Oh, that's encouraging, Is this a habit of yours?"

"Only in dire circumstances. Now do you want the story or not?" He raised an eyebrow, and she lifted her hands a little in sarcastic deference. His smile widened ever so slightly. At least she was giving him some sort of chance, however reluctantly.

"Very well, then. As I said, we met in the Meltokio sewers, though I'm not entirely certain you could call it a meeting, considering we were in indirect contact, and only for a few moments. At that point, I was still after Colette."

Raine glanced at him, her own brow lifted. "Colette...Brunel?" she clarified. "Sylvarant's Chosen of Mana?"

His expression was pleased. "Good, you know that much. Yes. Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Presea Combatir, Genis Sage, Zelos Wilder, Sheena Fujibayashi, and Raine Sage." Here he inclined his head toward her, to which she rolled her eyes. "Putting aside myself, of course. The eight of us traveled together and managed against all odds to reunite the two worlds, and grow extraordinarily close to one another in the process. ...What?"

She had started shaking her head, and he tilted his own, but she glanced at him fleetingly. "You know how ridiculous you sound, don't you?"

"Do I?"

"You're trying to convince me that not only am I a different person than I think I am, but I'm actually some legendary heroine. It's a bit much."

Regal conceded this point with a slight dip of his head. "I can appreciate that. But need I remind you, Professor, that you both agreed to and requested this?"

"Professor?" she snorted.

"The title belonging to Iselia's schoolteacher and a dedicated educator even outside the classroom."

Raine blinked. "I'm supposed to have...taught in a school?"

"And were exceedingly good at it, as I understand. Lloyd notwithstanding." She looked at him, clearly missing the joke, and he waved It off. "The point is that you asked me to reacquaint you with your past."

He watched her hand draw back into a fist. "Your world, Bryant. I said 'your world,' and I meant it. You haven't shown me any shred of proof, and I don't trust you. You know more than you should, but that doesn't mean I believe you, and it certainly doesn't make us friends."

At last, Regal stopped walking and turned to face her directly. "Whether you recall it or not, Raine, we are friends. At the very least, you are mine, and while I understand you have no reason to trust me right now, I will never lie to you. I _will _prove it to you. One 'ridiculous' memory at a time."

For a moment she eyed him through violet slits, her arms folded studiously across her chest. He met her gaze with that same little smile in his own, though the gravity of the situation wasn't lost on him, either. He wanted to convey confidence and camaraderie, certainty in the face of her confusion, in some small hope of getting past her Force Field. Which was tricky under normal circumstances, granted.

"...I really can't stand you," she stated at length, earning her another cocked eyebrow, "And you _don't _know me. ...But there are things you do know, and damned if I'm not going to find out why you know them. Just remember this." Raine took a step closer to him. "You haven't won anything here. I have nowhere better to go anymore, in no small part thanks to you, and I said I'd hear you out, but that's it. Don't kid yourself."

"That is all I ask," Regal told her, spreading his arms just a little. "Just an open mind. I don't want to 'win' anything; I just want to set things right."

After several more seconds of staring at each other, the gaze finally broke when the sunlight dimmed around them. Regal looked upward to find light grey clouds gathering overhead. "Hmh. Perhaps we should be getting back. It appears we might be in for some..." He paused and set his eyes back on her. His lids lowered slightly, and while he should have been ashamed of what he was about to say, he said it anyway: "Raine."

Her reaction was priceless and made him uncertain whether to cringe or laugh. It took her an instant, but when she looked at him, her expression was flat. "...You're proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?" she grunted after a minute, and he bit back at least _most _of a smile as he fell into step with her when she resumed walking. "Goddess Martel, you are an idiot."

Regal permitted himself a soft chuckle, but he just shook his head and directed their path back toward the tram. It had been a terrible pun. He was probably lucky she hadn't hit him, since he was fairly certain if anyone had cracked such a poor joke three years ago, it would have been a very different story. Was it strange that he was surprised no one ever _had_? Maybe they had all just known better than to try. Hopefully she'd forgive him this time.

When they reached the vehicle, he automatically offered a hand to help her into it. She just looked at him sideways before quite nimbly stepping in on her own. He followed her even while she took a seat as far from him as humanly possible.

"Where to, sir?" asked the conductor.

"Ah, the Lezareno main building, please."

"Of course."

When Regal lowered himself to sit as well as the tram began to move, he happened to glance her way—and found her looking over her shoulder at him through narrowed eyes. He looked around, then back at her. "What is it?"

"...Just thinking."

He tilted his head once more. "About what?"

"Well," said Raine, casting her gaze back out over the water. "I suppose I find it peculiar that despite your claims that we're such great friends, you still keep me locked away like a common criminal."

"You did commit a crime, Raine," he pointed out. "You attacked a shop and did significant damage to both a building and a man's livelihood."

"Which you still can't prove."

Resting one ankle on the opposite knee, he leaned back and regarded her profile pensively. She did have something of a point, if he thought about it. Keeping her imprisoned would do very little to put her at ease or earn her trust, which was absolutely critical to this endeavor. So maybe to earn it, he needed to start by extending it, if even just a little.

"Maybe you're right."

"That you can't prove it? I'm well aware of that."

"No, not about that. About being locked up."

He watched her expression shift, brow inching toward her hairline as if she couldn't believe her little ploy had actually worked. Slowly, she shifted in her seat to face him. "...You're letting me go?" she asked cautiously, and he had to chuckle.

"Not exactly." She pulled a bit of a face, but he continued. "I would like to keep an eye on you, and I wouldn't want you running off before you've had a chance to hear the whole truth. But you are correct in that I can't keep you caged in my office indefinitely. So, if you promise to behave..." He drew a deep breath. Trust, indeed. "I would be happy to board you in my own home."

Raine blinked, and he just offered a serene, little smile, until her features smoothed out. "Well, well. Getting a touch bold, are we?"

Bold? What—

Regal pinched the bridge of his nose as it hit him what she meant, and while the conductor did his best to mask his laughter, the poor duke sighed and dropped his hand back into his lap. "Raine, please. You know very well that is not what I meant." So much for a gesture. But to his surprise, though she still looked a little smug, Raine accepted the olive branch.

"All right, Bryant. If it gets me out of your office," she added somewhat bitterly, "then so be it. But if you get any ideas, I will _show _you what magic is capable of."

"I somehow doubt _that _will be a problem," was his dry response.


	7. Chapter 6

Welcome back! Oh, fun fact about this particular fanfiction: I actually consider this story to be part of my headcanon for these two, so all of my little one shots of their lives come after this one. It doesn't really matter in the end, but I thought I'd share. Enjoy!

* * *

It seemed his predictions were accurate. With every passing moment, the sky darkened more, and they were racing the coming weather. Regal kept a close eye on the clouds, but he did spare part of his attention for the woman walking beside and slightly behind him as well. He still hadn't ruled out an escape attempt—call him paranoid. He was relieved when his home finally came into view, especially when the rain started to fall at last.

"Here we are. Come on." He beckoned her along and hastened his steps, and though they both ended up a little more wet than he'd hoped, he quickly unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her slip in first. She did hesitate there at the door briefly, but ultimately she passed by him and into the handsome, modest house of wood and stone. Regal followed her and shut the door behind him before smoothing damp hair out of his face.

When he turned to look at her, she was creeping a little further into the living room, her arms wrapped about herself in what was probably a mix of uncertainty and the chill of wet clothes. The suspicion and caution on her face amused him, though it also struck a note of guilt and sympathy. In a stranger's home—a strange man, no less, it occurred to him—by herself, with her very identity and who knew what else in question. She was right to be wary, and he'd hardly expect anything less from Raine Sage.

Still, she had agreed to trust him in some small way, and the least he could do was try everything in his power to set her at ease and prove it wasn't misplaced.

"Please, come in," he invited. He was careful not to even brush against her when he passed to take the lead. She was eyeing him, he knew, but she did follow. "It isn't much, but it's comfortable and has plenty of room. I'll show you around, and then we can get you settled into the guest bedroom if you'd like."

"Whatever you say, warden."

He bit back a sigh but pressed on. "...A tour it is, then. This is the living room, obviously, and there in the back, those doors lead to the deck. To the left there is the dining room, and through that door, the kitchen. You're more than welcome to anything there, though I will happily provide meals."

Regal stopped by one of the sofas, linking his hands behind his back as he turned to face her. Raine took in the tasteful room, each lamp, the shelves, the hearth and the chair in front of it. He found himself wondering what she thought of any of it, but it was difficult to tell. He couldn't quite get a read on her expression.

"Ah...Up the stairs," he continued after a short silence, turning that way and gesturing her along as he started to climb them, "we have the den at this end. I have a small collection of books you might enjoy, so feel free to investigate it as you please. That goes for any part of the house," Regal added. "You may go anywhere and do anything you wish. You are _not _a prisoner here." He paused at another door and rested his hand on the knob idly. "You're my guest, and I want you to be comfortable." Pushing the door open, he stepped aside once more. "This is your room."

Raine stepped inside and again swept her gaze over the beige room. There was a desk, a bed, and a nightstand all in the same dark wood as the trim. She paced in a slow circle around it, drawing her hand over the windowsill and the soft bed linens. He still couldn't figure out what she was thinking, but after a minute, she turned back to face him.

"...I have free rein," she clarified, almost carefully, "over this entire house."

"I have no reason to tell you otherwise."

She narrowed her eyes, then sat down on the bed and resumed looking around, still hugging herself about the middle.

"Now, I spend much of my time either in the living room or the den, but if you should need something, my bedroom is just down the hall." Regal gestured to the side with two fingers from where he still stood in the doorway. This time when she looked at him, there was a little bit of smugness back in her eyes.

"You really wanted to make sure I knew that."

He blinked. "Well, I figured it would be helpful to know," he replied, a little quizzically. It didn't quite hit him as an extension of an earlier remark until he saw the smirk tug at her lips.

"I never knew you were so _daring_, Bryant."

Regal did sigh this time. "Nor," he retorted flatly, a little flustered again, "did I realize until now where _your _mind was situated. Now, I am going to change my clothes—and no." He held up a finger to silence whatever suggestion she would turn that into. "I meant nothing by that either." She wasn't the only one to preempt. At least if she was making jokes about it and poking fun at him, it might mean she didn't actually fear for her own safety in his home, but it was certainly awkward.

Shaking his head again, he turned to go and dry off, but he paused with a frown and faced her again. "Forgive me, I just realized—did you bring anything with you, to Altamira?" He wasn't the only damp one, after all, but she didn't have anything with her to change _into_. "Should I send for your belongings at the hotel?"

She arched one eyebrow. "I wasn't planning on staying," she replied evenly after a moment's pause. "So no, I didn't bring much of anything."

"I see..." He drummed his fingers against his leg thoughtfully. "Well, in that case, we'll have to find you something. You may be here for a while, and you certainly can't continue to wear that."

"I also didn't bring money," she pointed out, but he waved that off. There were several boutiques on the island, and he was more than capable of providing her some manner of wardrobe. Granted, he had never shopped for women's clothing and wasn't entirely certain how to go about it, but the last thing he needed was to be accused of letting a young woman catch her death of cold.

"Don't worry about that; I'll take care of it. Let me just put on something dry and find an umbrella and I can run out. In the meantime..." She really ought to change sooner rather than later, he thought. He worked the inside of his cheek with his tongue and glanced back toward his own bedroom. "...One moment."

Leaving her room, he headed for his and went directly to the chest of drawers. Compared to him, she was rather small, and she would likely swim in any of his clothing. She certainly wouldn't be able to wear his pants—but in the bottom of one drawer, he found one of his night shirts, and he shook it out to hold it up and inspect it. It was long and soft and clean, and it might suffice until he could find something more suitable for her.

When he returned, he found her standing by the window, trying to comb through her hair with her fingers. She looked back at him after she heard his footsteps, and he approached with the shirt in hand, choosing not to comment on the fact that he seemed to have startled her out of some thought.

"Here. So you can at least be dry for now." He held it out, and Raine glanced from him to it and back again. After she'd apparently examined it more closely, she cast him a sideways look.

"You want me to wear your pajamas?" she snorted, and he had to smile apologetically.

"Unfortunately, it's either that or a bathrobe, and somehow..."

She pulled a face and took up the offering with a dry, "I'll take the shirt."

Regal chuckled softly. "Very well. With any luck, it won't be for too long anyway; I'll do my best to be quick about it." Her response was a noncommittal hum, and once more he made to retreat from the room and afford her some privacy. After he'd closed her door, he went back to his bedroom and peeled himself out of his own damp clothes with a grimace. He hung them for laundering later in the en suite master bath and pawed through the rest of his wardrobe in search of something comfortable, all the while letting his mind wander back to the...predicament.

As far as personality went, from what he could tell, she wasn't that different. That was good. But the lapses in her memory were just bizarre, as was some of her behavior. He kept catching her staring off into space, frowning, perhaps even mournful, and he wanted to ask about it—but she was also, he had gathered, skittish about speaking of her thoughts. She had volunteered almost nothing, and not by accident. She had said as much herself and sidestepped every question he _had _asked. Raine was, to use a fitting metaphor, quite a closed book by nature, He needed to rebuild a rapport, and he was going to have to do it from the ground up. "Kara" was going to be a challenge.

Maybe he would write to Genis. After all, the boy was the most likely to know what she had been up to the past few years. He didn't want to worry him, of course, but the two were incredibly close, and besides having a right to know about his sister's condition, he might be of significant help in bringing her back to herself.

First things first, though. Clean and dry, and his own hair rebraided after a quick comb through, he came out of his room and glanced down toward hers. With some surprise, he realized her door was open. So she was finished changing. But when he went to see if she needed anything before he left on his brief errand, she was...not there. Nothing was there. Not her old clothes, not his nightshirt, just an empty room. His pulse quickened, and his eyes went a little wider.

No...

Quickly, he checked the guest bathroom, but it was empty, too. "Damn it," he muttered as he rushed down the stairs and toward the front door. Just as he'd reached for the knob, the rustling of paper from behind made him stop and spin, and relief washed over him, expressed in an audible sigh and eyes that closed for a moment. Thank the goddess.

There she was on the sofa facing away from the door, and all he could see was the back of her head and shoulders, but she hadn't fled. Now, she had turned her head to give him a strange look. He had just torn through the room like a madman, after all. Drawing a hand down over his face, he came back toward her at a more reasonable pace.

"Forgive me," Regal offered. "I thought..."

"That I had run?" she finished. "Unfortunately, no." Raine actually looked away before adding, a bit bitterly and in a lower voice, "Like I told you, there's nothing left for me to run back to, so you needn't worry about that."

There it was again, that strange and heavy burden. He came around to the front of the sofa, about to actually thank her for _not _going anywhere, despite how she apparently wished she could, but he was stalled before he got the chance.

He had known even from the back that she was wearing his shirt, as he recognized the grey fabric sitting over her shoulders, but he hadn't really pictured what that would look like as a whole. Now he took it in, not quite sure...how he felt.

As he'd thought, it was long on her. Even sitting as she was, with both legs tucked up on the cushion beside her, it came to her knees, more a dress than a shirt. The sleeves were too long, too, swallowing the hand not supporting a book in her lap entirely. She actually looked smaller than ever, and part of him found the sight rather comical. Another part felt his cheeks go a little warm for reasons of which he wasn't even certain.

There was a beautiful woman sitting on his couch...in his clothes.

"...What the hell are you staring at?"

This question jarred him out of whatever stupor had overtaken him, and Regal cleared his throat softly. Politely, he ensured his eyes returned to, and remained on, her face. He shook his head. "Nothing. I do apologize that I have nothing better to offer you, something that might actually fit, but I hope it's not uncomfortable, at least in the short-term."

Raine looked down at herself, then set the book aside and rose to her feet. He kept his gaze level with hers. "It will do. Honestly, I'd be more worried if you _did _have clothes here that fit me. Although," she added dryly, "you are nobility, so...I have no idea what kind of 'guests' you entertain."

Again he shut his eyes. "...I don't _'entertain_' anyone, I assure you." Goddess Martel, she was as bad as Zelos in this state. Was this just Raine without a censor? he had to wonder, somewhat amused but mostly embarrassed. He drew a breath and shook off the subject. "Now... I'm going to find you something more suitable to wear." Crossing back to the door, where there hung an umbrella, he asked over his shoulder, "Any requests?"

Her response was a flat, "Pants," and here he had to chuckle faintly.

"Noted."

He paused there at the door, briefly wondering what would happen if he were to truly leave her alone. But she hadn't run away thus far, and she'd had every opportunity to do so, and he was fairly certain—fairly—that she wouldn't try now. Maybe he was just optimistic.

"...Bryant."

One more time, as he opened the door and let the quiet patter of rain fill the room, her voice stopped him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see her standing there, facing him from behind the sofa. She was studying his face, all sarcasm at least momentarily suspended in favor of dubious curiosity.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked him. "If you really believe me a criminal, if you truly believe I'm the one who attacked the hotel...why did you take me in? You know I have magic, and now you give me access to a kitchen presumably full of knives and leave me alone with all of it. Why do you set me loose in your home?"

This was a question he didn't mind answering, and his reply came without much effort. He smiled slightly. "Because I trust you," he said, before slipping out the door.


	8. Chapter 7

Good evening! Thanks for continuing to read. I hope you enjoy this latest reboot installment and let me know what you think,

* * *

He could defuse the most volatile business disputes, handle the cut-throat world of politics and hold his own in the Tethe'allan court, survive sixteen years in prison, stare down the blade of a sword, and help save the whole damn world, but this... This was an entirely different animal.

Standing outside the shop, looking at the displays of dresses and blouses in the front window as the rain continued to drip off the edges of his umbrella, Regal felt about as comfortable as if someone had asked him to wear a dress himself. Logically, it was fairly simple. He bought clothes for himself, and it couldn't be _that _different, right? Still, a solitary man walking into a women's clothing boutique rarely knew what he was getting himself into. And Martel only knew what manner of rumors he would start, and, frankly, about which one of them. His reputation wasn't all that important to him, but it was still unpleasant to be the topic of scandal, and he certainly didn't want to cast any aspersions on her. Though that ship, he mused warily, might have already sailed. He was well known to be a bachelor, and now he had a young woman accused of terrorism staying in his home. They were probably doomed already.

...This was silly. He was an adult, and she needed something dry to wear—that wasn't his pajamas. Only one thing he dearly hoped: From its very start to its finish, Zelos would never learn of this day.

He gave his head a shake and folded the umbrella when he had stepped under the overhang. After politely moving aside to let a few ladies exit, and for the sake of his dignity choosing to ignore the curious glances they sent his way, he slipped into this sea of fabric and accessories.

It was even more colorful and intimidating on the inside. Every length of skirt, every style of shirt, every kind of cloth in every hue imaginable surrounded him. Everything seemed to be organized by some manner of scheme, but he couldn't for the life of him discern more than a few broad categories. Luckily, aside from a brief and wholly unintentional glimpse, he was able to avoid the back of the store and the more, ah, personal garments.

"Can I help you?" ventured a sweet voice from behind him after he had somehow managed to get lost and end up in what looked to be children's swimwear. Regal turned around, both embarrassed and relieved to have been found. Recognition entered the young clerk's face, and she blinked up at him. "Oh, Lord Bryant, I'm so sorry. Are you...here to see someone?" she guessed.

"Ah...no, actually. I'm here to..." He scratched his cheek and finally gave up with a small, sheepish smile. "I am actually browsing for a friend. Her plans have changed, and it appears she'll be staying a while longer than she packed for."

Another blink, and then her brow flew toward her hairline. "O-_oh_, of course." She seemed to be trying not to giggle, and he bit back a sigh.

And it started, he thought, kneading his forehead. "...Yes. But I am honestly at a loss here, and I am not too proud a man to ask for help, if you have a moment."

"Certainly!" she chirped. "But...you are very much in the wrong section, sir."

"I gathered that."

Here she did laugh, and she beckoned him along after her, toward another part of the store. "So what does your lady friend need? Something for the beach? A night on the town, perhaps? Or maybe something a little more...special?" She sneaked a sly, subtle glance his way that made him shift ever so slightly in discomfort.

"Just...a few things for everyday wear." Even in her right mind, Raine would probably have decked anyone who offered to sell her something "special." Though with her new running joke, who really knew? "And she's just a friend," he felt the need to reassert.

"Of course. Well, we do have a lovely new line of dresses, everything from casual sundresses to the high fashion of Meltokio," she offered as they stopped in the middle of a collection of skirts.

He glanced about. "They _are _lovely, but I was actually hoping for a pair or two of pants. She's not the dress type." At least as far as he knew. Had he ever actually seen her wear one? he wondered idly. Aside from the party in Meltokio, when their clothing was all provided for them. That hardly seemed to count.

"I see. Then you'll want to look over here. Do you know her size?"

He paused. "She's...about your size, actually," he supplied, thankful for that, at least. Trying to guess at things like that was dangerous and a complete stab in the dark for him. Having someone to compare her to did make it easier.

"Oh, okay. What are her preferences for color and cut?"

"Ah..."

The clerk looked over her shoulder at him as she pawed through a rack, and the utter helplessness must have been apparent on his face, judging by the expression on hers. "...We'll just go for a classic shape in neutral, then. Here, these are what I wear." She handed him two pairs of black slacks, folded neatly. "Now then, shirts, too?"

"...Please."

She smiled again, knowingly, and led the unwitting man to yet another area. "Short sleeves or long?"

All these questions he really hadn't thought to ask. Used to being prepared for just about anything, it was disturbing how woefully off-guard he felt. For him, it was simple. He wore suits to the office, and what he had for his home life was fairly straightforward, too. "I'm not certain. Perhaps both?"

"Sure. Fit?"

"I'm not..."

Here she lifted an eyebrow at him. "Color schemes...?" He glanced around at the different options, at a loss, and she propped her hands on her hips. "Okay... Ah! What color are her eyes?" she finally asked.

At once, he replied, "Violet." The answer rose to his lips automatically, though he didn't stop to consider why that particular bit of information was resting on the tip of his tongue.

"Violet, unusual. Okay, we can work with that. Is she of fair or dark complexion?"

"She's very fair. And her hair is white," he added, though in retrospect, no one had actually asked. The clerk smiled again, and he cleared his throat softly.

"Wonderful. Well... How about I gather a selection of what I think would pair well with those pants, and you can tell me what you think?"

Regal released a quiet breath and nodded. "That would probably be best," he admitted. "I appreciate that."

"It's really no trouble at all. Now, let me just take a look, and I'll be right back."

Feeling more than ever out of his element, he retreated out of the way and found a place to stand and wait, somewhat awkwardly holding the two pairs of pants and trying to pretend he didn't see the other patrons and employees alike chuckling at him now and then. When the young lady came back ten or fifteen minutes later, she had in her arms an array of tops in various shades and types. She laid them out for him, and he tried to look at them as Raine would, rather than himself. Things like fashion were fairly low on his list of priorities.

In the end, Regal settled on three shirts, one a nice green, one simple and white, and one in a lovely purple. He had no idea how long she would be with him, but this would tide her over for now and give her some choices. At the very least, it would take several days for any letter to reach her brother in Palmacosta, his last known whereabouts according to Colette, not to mention the reply and potential traveling time for Genis to get back here.

"There you are, My Lord." The clerk handed him the box, wrapped in plain paper that, mercifully enough, was unlikely to cause more heads to turn on the way home.

"Thank you. You've been extraordinarily helpful. I do apologize for any inconvenience."

"No inconvenience, sir. But, Duke Bryant?" she added as he turned to go. When he glanced back at her, she was wearing a teasing smile. "Perhaps bring your friend next time."

Regal chuckled softly. "Believe me," he mused, "I will."

Errand accomplished, he ducked out of the store and retrieved the umbrella he had left at the door. In the time he had been inside, however, it appeared the rain had run its course, so he merely held it on his way back to the house. He did glance down at the box he carried, finding himself hoping she, at the very least, would fit into something. He really would have to come back out with her if she were here for any extended length of time.

When he arrived home, he passed through the door and immediately hung the umbrella back up in its place on the peg. "Raine?" he hailed, though after closing the door and looking toward the sofa where he'd last seen her, there was no sign of her. Regal blinked. "...Raine?"

Frowning, he came a little further into the room, around to the front of the couch. The book wasn't there, either, and he turned in a slow circle. For the second time that day, it did occur to him that she might have finally bolted, but somehow, unless she had changed back into her old clothes, he couldn't see her running around Altamira in nothing but an oversized nightshirt. So rather than panicking this time, he climbed the stairs—albeit quickly.

Her door was mostly closed when he came upon it, showing that she had at least come up. Regal approached and knocked softly, so as not to startle her. "Raine," he called again. "I have clothing here. You'll have to forgive any discrepancies in taste or size. I'm afraid, like most men, I fall short in my perceptions of women." There was no answer from within after a moment, and he carefully nudged the door open a bit more. What he found when he finally stepped inside made him pause.

She was there, which was good—but she was curled up in the bed, facing the door, fast asleep. He stood there for a few seconds before creeping a little closer. A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth in amusement, but also gladness that she was able to get some rest. Despite the circumstances, and despite himself, he found it a strangely sweet image. ...Not that she would probably appreciate that.

Silently, after snapping himself back to the task at hand, he set the box on the end of the bed and retreated from the room, pulling the door nearly closed again behind him. He didn't want to risk waking her, and even the quiet creak of the floorboards as he passed back down the hall made him flinch, but at last he reached the den. While she slept, it was a good opportunity for him to hopefully get a little work done.

A few hours passed. He had kept his door open that he might watch for any movement, but for a while, there was nothing, and he was able to more or less focus on business. Shadows cast over his desk eventually alerted him to the start of sunset, and he looked up and over through the window. It was getting late, probably time to start dinner. She didn't seem to be up yet, just from one more cursory glance down toward her door, but he did want to have something ready for when she was.

Meals were interesting things, he thought idly as he fished in a drawer for a fitting knife (with a brief count of the rest, just in case she had gotten adventurous in his absence). They had the power to bring people together and create common ground. They were good ice-breakers. But they could also, he realized, tilting his head a little, create moments. Moments that could be _re_created. The link between the memory and the senses was powerful, and weren't smell and taste said to be strong triggers?

His eyes flicked over his shoulder, and for a moment, he stood there in thought. What could he make that might bring her back to a moment? He didn't really know her that well. All he had to rely on was their shared experience of the Journey. So was there something...

Regal blinked. Of course. There was one very obvious choice, one particular meal in all that time that stood out to him. Maybe it would to her, as well. After all, it wasn't every day that a small, magical creature demanded curry as payment for passage through a Summon Spirit's temple. Smiling slightly at his own memory, he crouched to find a couple pots.

It wasn't terribly complicated to make a basic vegetable curry with white rice, but he did take his time. He wanted to get it right. It had been a long time since he had cooked for anyone but himself, and there was a very good chance it was showing. He took painstaking care with every element, from the food itself to the table he was setting. He'd been called a perfectionist in his time, but what could he say? He had a system.

"You are an anal one, aren't you?

A subtle start went through his shoulders, and Regal paused in the middle of placing a fork to look toward the source of this voice. Behind him stood Raine, combing her fingers through her hair as she watched his with one eyebrow arched. She was dressed in one of the outfits he had brought back for her, and he couldn't help but appreciate that she had chosen the purple shirt. It looked nice, but more significantly (and miraculously enough) the clothing actually seemed to fit.

"Good morning," he greeted easily, putting the utensil down. "I do hope you slept well."

He could tell this embarrassed her a little when she averted her eyes for an instant. "Yes, well, I didn't exactly have luxurious accommodations in your office. Sleep wasn't really an option."

"Judging by the state of it when I visited, you found plenty to occupy yourself that night."

"If you're going to cage the wildlife, you can't complain about the mess it makes."

He chuckled softly and slid out a chair for her. "Fair enough. Well, dinner is ready, if you're hungry."

"...You're really serious about this whole 'house guest' thing," she observed.

"Entirely."

"I'm not a charity case, Bryant."

"I wouldn't dream of implying anything of the like."

Raine eyed him, and she almost looked suspicious, but she came forward slowly. Rather pointedly, she scooted out the opposite chair and sat down there instead, still regarding him through narrowed eyes. Apparently she hadn't lost any of her independence, either, he mused with another blink. It was his turn to lift one brow, but he simply retreated back into the kitchen. When he returned, it was with two steaming plates of curry and rice. One he placed in front of her; the other he took with him to the first seat.

She looked down at it, then back at him, then down again. She seemed to be trying to figure out what to make of it, particularly when she picked up her fork and scooped up a little to sniff it. He just watched for a moment, bemused.

"It's...curry," he prompted after she had examined it from every angle.

Raine shot him a look. "I know what it is," she informed him a little shortly. She just looked at it again, though, and he frowned a bit.

"Raine, is there something wrong?"

She seemed to bristle a bit, and here she lowered the fork. "Would you stop doing that?"

"Doing..."

"Calling me that. I already told you I'm not her, and I don't believe your stories."

"Ah..." Deliberately, after a beat, Regal folded his hands on the table and inclined his head toward her in some apology. "Forgive me. I didn't realize it bothered you."

"It does. Stop doing it."

"...All right. But then you'll have to tell me what I _should _call you," he pointed out, and he caught himself studying her. Especially when she silently turned her face away and stared at the wall, and he could see her jaw clenched. After a moment, he took a stab in the dark. "Would you like me to call you Kar—"

"Flare," she stated at last, cutting him off without even looking his way.

He blinked. "Flare?"

"That's right."

It was evident that she wasn't going to elaborate any further than that, despite his clear confusion, but he decided for the sake of keeping peace and continuing to build some level of trust not to press the issue and merely nodded again. "Very well, then. Flare it is."

"Good. Let's just keep it that way, shall we?"

"As you wish. ...Please, try it," he urged after an awkward beat of silence, gesturing toward her plate. "I'd like to know what you think." _And what you think of._

After giving him a sideways glance and chewing on her cheek, she dropped her gaze back to the food before her. "...I suppose I don't have to worry about being poisoned," she observed as she picked the fork back up. "You've gone to all the trouble of making me over with a lady's wardrobe—not to mention the debacle with the letter opener," she added a little bitterly. "It wouldn't make much sense to turn around and kill me anyway."

Well, that was one way of looking at it, though it didn't sound much like a vote of confidence. "I do prefer to make sense, yes."

She hummed ambiguously, but at last, she took a small bite. Regal actually found himself sitting perfectly still, unblinking, barely breathing, just waiting. Gauging her expression. Hoping against hope to see the light of familiarity enter her eyes.

For a long moment, she just chewed. When she finally swallowed and took a sip of water to wash it down, there was the slightest crease in her brow. "...Interesting."

Er. Was that...good? Or bad? He honestly couldn't tell. "Do you...like it?" he clarified. _Do you remember it?_

"It reminds me of...something. I can't place the taste, but... Why are you looking at me like that?"

Regal had softened into a small, triumphant smile and leaned back in his chair. "It should remind you of something. It should remind you of an odd little creature called a...gnomelette, I believe? A servant of the Summon Spirit, Gnome, who, before he would let us pass further into the Temple of Earth, demanded we demonstrate the concept of 'spiciness' to him. Your brother, Sheena, and myself were responsible for making something that would satisfy this requirement. Ergo," he concluded, indicating the plate again, "curry."

Through the course of this explanation, she had again set aside her silverware and turned her head. "It's a common Tethe'allan dish, Bryant, and I do regularly eat. Finding the taste of something familiar just means I've had something like it before."

"Or," he countered, "it means that I'm telling you the truth. This is the same recipe we used three years ago, and you found it familiar. Don't you find that the slightest bit suspect?"

"You're not the only chef in the world, My Lord, and I hardly think you can credit yourself with the invention of this dish. So no, I don't."

"Flare." He leaned forward a little. "It isn't much to go on, and I know that, but just think about it: There's something there, and I think you know it, too."

She pushed her chair out behind her as she rose to her feet. "You're right," she said, her voice hard. "It isn't much to go on. And it's going to take a lot more than that to convince me of any of this."

He followed suit and rested his palms flat on the table. "What possible reason," he pressed, "could I have for lying to you? For lying this extensively? Why would I make any of this up? Why, if you are not Raine Sage, would I try so hard to convince you that you are?"

A muscle tightened in her jaw, and she still wouldn't look at him. It was a long time before she replied with a soft, "I haven't figured that out yet."

And then she was gone, disappeared back up the stairs despite his clumsily stumbling between her real name and the alias she preferred. He followed the sound of her footsteps with his eyes until he heard her bedroom door slam shut, and then he sank back into his chair, kneading his forehead.

Well. That hadn't exactly gone to plan. Pushing her, it seemed, was counter productive. In which case, it occurred to him, should he really ask Genis to come? She was skittish, and he had seen more than stubbornness in her eyes tonight. He had seen unease, and her hackles were up. If they ganged up on her... Maybe it was best to write the boy, warn him, but not bring him to the island. At least not yet. Not until the rapport, however fragile, was actually established.

He ate alone that night after all, as she never came back down. Regal felt a little bad, and he worried what he might have done; how he might have upset her. But she was still there, and right now, she was his responsibility. One day at a time, he supposed. Just one difficult day at a time.


	9. Chapter 8

Good morning! I woke my beta up to read this chapter, but she liked it, so I'ma post it. Enjoy!

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It just...didn't make any sense. None of this made _any _sense. And there was nothing more infuriating than a puzzle she couldn't figure out.

Sitting at the desk by the window, her chin in her hand, she stared out, unseeing, through narrowed eyes. Her mind wasn't on the pretty view, or the distant sound of gulls. Instead, it wandered back—as it so frequently did these days—to the months before her arrival in this glittery corporate tourist trap. Back to the Circle. Back to Fang. For all she didn't remember and didn't know, he was one thing she did. Or had. Or...something.

Flare rubbed her fingers gently over her mouth. As far back as she _could _remember, he had always been there, and according to everything she'd ever been told, they had been close even before her accident. He had walked by her side from the moment she'd woken up, scared and confused. She knew his face, she knew his voice, she knew him, and she'd never had any reason to doubt him.

And yet here was Bryant, telling her that not only did _he _know her, but everything she knew about herself was a lie. Her entire existence as an agent thrown into question by one man. Of course, that existence had been introduced to her by one man, too. One of them was a liar, that much was clear; she couldn't both be Raine Sage, Hero of Regeneration, and Flare, long-standing member of the order. The two stories she was getting were in direct conflict with each other, but there was one glaring problem with all of this:

Why would _either _of them lie?

Bryant was right in that there was no clear motive for him to deceive her. Sure, he knew she was behind the attack on the hotel, but if it were as simple as that, she'd have been arrested, and that would have been that. Unless he suspected she was working with other people. Which, of course, she was. But then why go to the trouble of feeding her a lie like this? He had been calling her that stupid name from the first time they'd met, before he knew she couldn't remember anything. If it were all a ploy, how would he have known that without an informant? And if he had an informant, why would he need to cozy up to her this way?

Unless he really was just a lunatic, like everyone thought. There was always that.

With a sigh, she rubbed at her face and pushed away from the desk to stand and pace in a slow circle around the room. So Bryant didn't have a motive. Did Fang? Not particularly. Maybe even less so, honestly. If she were this woman, this hero, certainly she might have some pull—but if she didn't remember who she _was_, how was that beneficial to anyone? She had confidence in her magic, in her skills (or she had, a voice grunted in the back of her mind, before getting caught), but she couldn't think of anything in particular that he'd want from her, certainly not something he'd gain by convincing her they had history.

But that went for both of them.

Flare stopped and folded her arms over her chest, chewing on her bottom lip as she looked back toward the window. Before she had come to the island, it had been drilled into her to avoid him. Avoid Regal Bryant at all cost, Fang had told her. At the time, it had seemed to make at least some sense. After all, he was an influential man, and it was technically his property against which she was perpetrating. But why him? Why _only _him? Shouldn't she have avoided being seen by anyone? What was so special about him?

What was so special about _her_?

She heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Try as she might to figure it out, she just kept coming around to the same reality: There was too much she didn't know. And like it or not, one of the few avenues of information she had seemed to be Bryant. She needed to know what his agenda was. She wasn't ready to proclaim Fang a liar, not in the least, but she had an opportunity here to learn something, maybe find some missing piece of the puzzle. Coincidences, too many coincidences. But they couldn't both be right.

A sharp jerk of her head broke the cycle, and she dropped her hand away with a deep breath. All of this back-and-forth was making her head spin, and she felt the trepidation in the pit of her stomach at the thought of either option. She couldn't keep spinning her wheels here. She just had to stick to her original plan—find the answers that were to be had here, play out this life until until she had a conclusion either way, and in the meantime, keep her silence about the Circle. She couldn't go back, but she wouldn't betray them more.

It was still early, and after a glance down at herself, it occurred to her that she wasn't even dressed for the day, still wearing that old nightshirt she had taken to sleeping in. She shook her head and shed it, tossing it on the bed before wriggling into the last clean outfit he had gifted her. Just as she picked it back up to fold it, though, a knock on the door startled her, and she looked over her shoulder. Another deliberate breath, a brief instant to close her eyes and cool her expression, and she finally turned around and offered an even, "Come in."

And so he did. Bryant opened the door quietly and stepped just inside, his hands linked behind his back. "Good morning." he offered, and though she studied his face, her eyes tightening a little while she tried to hold back the inner debate, she merely nodded. But his own eyes were drawn to what she was holding, and when she followed them, a little heat flushed her cheeks. She averted her gaze, pursed her lips, and chucked it back on the bed behind her. In turn, he cleared his throat softly with his mouth hidden briefly behind one first. He made no mention of the shirt, but there was a glint in his expression she didn't much care for.

"Forgive the intrusion, but something has come up that requires I actually go into the office, and I wanted to extend the invitation for you to come along. You're welcome to stay here, of course, but I thought you might enjoy the chance to get out and stretch your legs, so to speak."

Flare cocked an eyebrow at him, but she paused before uttering the immediate and adamant "no" that rose to her lips.

It had been two days since the incident at dinner, and she had been keeping to herself, frequently either reading or thinking, or reading to try to avoid thinking. She'd come out a few times, mostly for food, but even those excursions had been brief, stealthy affairs. She hadn't really wanted to be around him, certainly not talk to him. But if she were honest, she was getting a touch restless—and if she was going to learn anything, she needed to relax her guard, just a little. Or at least appear to.

"...All right," she answered at length. "I'll come. It might be nice to see something other than these four walls, anyway. And I was getting nostalgic," this she added dryly as she passed him, "for my first prison."

A short sound of amusement followed her while Bryant eased her door closed again behind him. "Well, if you can restrain yourself and refrain from either tearing it apart or throwing things at people, I'm happy to take you for a visit."

"We'll see," she told him loftily. He chuckled, but he didn't comment further, and soon enough they left the house.

For a little while, they walked in silence, more or less side by side. She took in the island, just half a step behind him, drumming her fingers idly against her thigh as they went. After a few moments, he spoke up. "...I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you again at all."

Flare blinked and turned her head toward him. He met her gaze briefly before returning his eyes forward and lacing his fingers behind his back again. "You disappeared the other night, and you've been elusive since. I haven't heard a word from you until today. I do apologize if I said something to upset you, Ra—Flare."

Her fingers twitched at the near-slip, but he did catch himself. That was something, at least. She looked away, back toward the ocean in the distance. "I wasn't 'upset,' But it's a lot to take in, and frankly, I meant what I said day one, Bryant. You need to get it through your head that I don't trust you, I never trusted you, and I'm not _going _to trust you just because you demonstrate your skill as a chef."

He stopped, and she pulled up abruptly. The look he was giving her had her eyeing him sideways defensively. "What are you looking at now?"

"Was that...a compliment?" he asked, and she wasn't sure she liked the barely-masked smugness creeping into his voice. Rolling her eyes, she resumed walking.

"Don't flatter yourself," was her flat, somewhat embarrassed, response. She heard him fall back into step with her, and though she very pointedly kept from so much as glancing his way, she had a feeling he was smiling again. How nice that he found this all so amusing.

"Regardless," he continued, "I am glad you decided to come. I thought perhaps we might do a little more shopping for you while we're out. I know you've gone through what I brought back by now. Maybe we can even find you some better pajamas. I know how unenthusiastic you are about wearing _mine_." He was being cheeky again, and it seemed any hope she might have had that he would let go of what he had happened to see before had evaporated.

Flare scowled. "And are you keeping track of my clothing now? That's a little unsettling," she informed him sarcastically instead of commenting on his little tease.

"I tend to notice details."

"Yes, well, it would do you some good to mind your own business, I think."

Again, Bryant released a quiet, almost fond chuckle. "It is nice to see, in spite of everything, that you haven't changed. A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but you're still very much you."

"If you say so."

"Indeed I do. Now, in all seriousness," he said with a merciful shift, "I know I only retrieved a few articles, and you're going to need more than that. I'd rather have you pick out things you like than keep stumbling my way through it. Not to mention it might spare me a few of the odd looks I received last time."

Here she raised her brow and peered up at him. "Really? You, Duke Bryant, taking a strange _half-elven _woman shopping for a new wardrobe, and you don't think that will get a few strange looks? Aren't you optimistic. And naive to boot."

He conceded this with a slight nod toward her as they finally reached the tram. "At least I wouldn't look as lost," he mused.

She snorted and shook her head, stepping into the vehicle. Flare still sat on the opposite end from him, but a little of the tension, without her even realizing it, had eased across her shoulders.

A short ride later, they had arrived in the lobby of the Lezareno main building. Bryant climbed out and extended a hand to help her disembark, and she pulled a face. Completely disregarding the offer, she got herself out and gave her pants a quick brush with her palms as she glanced about. A busy day, it seemed. Many people bustled about, though she did note that several people made it a point to greet them. Rather, greet him, she supposed.

"Here we are," he said after he'd led her toward the reception desk situated by the elevators. "I'll be headed to my office. You would undoubtedly find my business dreadfully dull, so I won't drag you with me. You're welcome to have a look around as you please. I'll find you when I'm finished."

She was admittedly a little surprised by this, and perhaps it showed on her face. First his house, then free run over his company? But despite the expression that followed him, he just offered her a parting smile, nodded to the receptionist, and then disappeared into the elevator, leaving her awkwardly standing there.

Flare scratched her shoulder, then released a short sigh, looking around again. Finally, after realizing she was being stared at curiously herself now that the president wasn't around to enforce some level of courtesy, she decided she really would rather be anywhere but in this lobby. So she ducked into the other lift.

As the door closed behind her, she planted her hands on her hips and peered at the different buttons. Mostly, it was just a long list of numbered floors, nothing that really described anything about what she might actually find on any of them. But then she found something that made her tilt her head, and after considering, she pressed the button labeled, "Sky Terrace." It sounded interesting. More so than "Floor Two," anyway.

The doors opened a moment later to dump her directly into the morning sun, and she blinked against the sudden natural light as she stepped out into this terrace. The first thing to hit her was the smell of hundreds of fragrant flowers and the sound of running water nearby. Almost cautiously, Flare moved further down the path and took in this rooftop garden that unfolded more with every step. It was almost overwhelming, but even she couldn't deny, as the ocean breeze stirred her hair and kept at bay the summer heat, that it was beautiful.

It must have been Bryant's getaway, she thought as she ambled. It had his fingerprints all over it. Little streams, arches, benches, carved stonework, and as she turned a corner, a raised waterfall. But it was what was nestled in front of that waterfall that gave her pause. It took her a minute to realize it, but when she saw the name and the dates etched below it, it became startlingly clear that she was looking at a monument at best, and a gravestone at worst.

"So much for peace and tranquility," she murmured to herself. Slowly, she came forward to inspect a little more closely.

_Alicia Combatir_, read the engraving. Judging by the dates, this person had died almost nineteen years before, and at a very young age. Her gaze passed over the stone until it found a small round indentation, and the slightest shudder trickled down her spine as she reached out one hand to brush it across the hole.

Why...did she suddenly have this vague impression of shock and confusion? Of learning something she had never suspected? A young girl, a desperate plea, a promise made... Something. The name was unfamiliar, the dates didn't feel important, but there was _something_. Something had happened here, and whatever it was, somehow, in some way, it meant something to her.

She just didn't know what—or why.

Flare wasn't sure how long she spent there, sitting on the paved path in front of the stone, staring up at it. She hadn't taken her eyes off of it once, and even when the quiet clack of the elevator and subsequent footsteps disturbed the silence, she didn't look up. She didn't have to to know who it was. She recognized Bryant's gait by now.

His shadow fell over her and the inscription she was studying, and for a few moments, he, too was quiet. At length, she heard him murmur behind her, "Alicia."

When she did finally glace over her shoulder, there was a wistful smile on his face, laced with a thread of pain. She turned slowly back toward the marker. "...Who was she?" she asked just as quietly, feeling as though if she spoke anything louder, the entire place might come tumbling down

"Originally, she was a maid. My maid. But she became someone...very important to me."

Here she shifted to look up at him, a frown creasing her brow. Some of the tension was back as she took in his stance, his features. Before she knew it she was asking, "What happened to her?"

Bryant almost seemed to grimace. "She was..." He hesitated and closed his eyes for an instant with a visible swallow. "She was killed," he finally answered, "in a terrible incident almost two decades ago. Alicia and I were in love."

A jolt went through her shoulders inexplicably at the words that struck her as alarmingly familiar. The crease deepened. "What did you say...?"

He blinked down at her, but soon enough that aching smile resurfaced. It was clear he missed the unsettled look on her own face as he lowered into a crouch beside her and turned to look back at the gravestone. "We were in love," he repeated. "Young, perhaps misguided, but in love nonetheless. But then she was used in a cruel experiment involving exspheres." He paused and glanced her way. "Do you rem—know anything about them?" Mutely, she nodded, and he continued, deliberately lacing his fingers together between his knees.

"The experiment failed, and she was...transformed into a monster, a violent and aggressive creature called an Exodia. It turned her body and took her mind, and she attacked me. But before she completely lost herself, she asked that...I take her life, before she could hurt anyone else. And..."

"...And you did," she finished for him.

Again, his eyes slipped closed, and he gave a vague nod. "Yes."

Flare turned her head back to the stone, not even realizing one hand was curled tightly around a handful of her pants leg. What an awful way to die—and to lose someone, too. She actually felt an odd, uncomfortable sort of guilt for asking at all. "I'm sorry." she finally offered in a rare moment of sincerity after another stretch of silence had run its course. "It must have been difficult to live with that."

"It was, and is. I tried several things to numb the pain, but in the end, I turned myself in for murder and voluntarily went to prison for sixteen years."

"...Well that's idiotic."

He blinked again and fixed her with a bemused stare. "Pardon?"

"She ceased to be human the moment she attacked," Flare stated. "You cut down countless monsters during the Journey of Regeneration, and this was no different. You had already lost her before you laid a hand on her, and through no fault of your own—"

Bryant held up a hand to quiet her and chuckled a little hoarsely. "I know, Raine," he assured her. "Trust me. I know." Neither of them seemed to have noticed the name he used as they both looked back toward the monument.

Shifting a little and straightening her shirt, she gave a crisp nod and straightened her shirt awkwardly. She wasn't even sure where that speech had come from, or why she cared at all.

"I've accepted my own innocence in the matter, at least as far as ending her life, something I was incapable of doing for a very long time. But that doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt," he confided.

She looked down. "...Of course not. When you lose something and it's gone forever, no amount of time, wishing, or pretending is going to change that. Of course it hurts." Her cheeks flushed a little when she caught herself and realized she wasn't just talking about _him_. A little abruptly, she pushed to her feet and brushed herself off, retreating back behind an impassive mask. "But life goes on, and so must we."

He rose back to his full height, as well, smoothing the wrinkles out of his own shirt. "Yes," he granted, "life goes on. But." When she lifted her face, he was regarding her with that same wry little smile. Oddly enough, though he was clearly teasing her, it was a welcome sight after the weight of the preceding conversation. Seeing him wounded and saddened made her itchy, and she didn't like it. "I'm not giving up on you that easily."

Flare rolled her eyes to mask her own thoughts and turned away. "If you're quite finished, can we go now? I've had about enough of this building to last me a lifetime, and for a half-elf, that actually means something."

Behind her, he chuckled again, warmer. "As you wish. I've completed what I came to do, so we can leave."

"Grand."

Together they retreated back to the elevator, in silence now, though each followed their very different trains of thought.


	10. Chapter 9

New chapter! I spent the better part of today trying to write this nonsense. Hope you like it.

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Something had happened that day at the Lezareno. They had shared something, and there had been a shift somewhere in there. Her guard had come down, if only a little, and it was unspoken, and he wasn't entirely sure when or why or how, but before he knew it, two full weeks had passed since her arrival to the island. A routine was becoming established, and though there were still hiccups, it seemed they were both settling into it.

Bit by bit, he would tell her their story, careful not to overwhelm her with too much at once. She still challenged every piece he offered. It had turned into a game of sorts, a test of wits, and he found it entertaining. And maybe this was more optimism, but he liked to think at least some part of her enjoyed it, too. She was good at pointing out holes and asking hard questions, but considering he had the truth—however unlikely it sounded out of context—on his side, he was generally fairly confident in his answers.

But it wasn't just that. He was going slowly, never pushing, and that meant a great deal of their time was spent just...living. Being. Getting to know each other in a way different than they had during the Journey, and not just because she thought she was a different person. In truth, as he had told her before, she seemed to have changed very little in personality; it was just that now, he was getting to know that personality a little better. She was proud, but not conceited; independent; clever; an altogether fascinating puzzle to work out.

Though the reality was always there in the back of his mind, driving him, coloring his behavior. Especially when he would look up at her and find a thousand-yard stare cast out the window or toward some unspecified point in space. Some burden still sat heavily over her shoulders, and in those moments he kept wanting to ask about it, but he never dared. He couldn't afford to spook her or run her off.

He didn't really want to, either. It was nice having someone else in the house. He was growing used to her presence, and even attached to it. In a purely platonic sense, of course.

Of course...

"You're doing it again."

This flat voice broke through his musings and brought the world around him back into focus. With a blink, Regal found himself under the scrutiny of violet eyes peering up at him. He was seated on the sofa, a small stack of papers held in hands that had fallen idle and a mug of hot tea sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Raine sat on the floor several inches from his leg, leaning back against the couch with her own knees bent. She had a book cracked in her lap, but she was eyeing him now.

"Doing what?" he asked, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Staring at me. You do it a lot, and it's extraordinarily unsettling. You look like some love-stricken schoolboy." Shaking her head, she looked back down at her book.

"Ah. Forgive me." He leaned forward and gave the papers a smart tap against the table's surface to align them. "I was just thinking. I didn't realize I had begun to stare."

"Must be some train of thought."

"Just the idle musings of an old man," he jested dismissively, and at her quiet snort, he smiled a little. But it was with renewed purpose, now that he had been reminded of the world outside his head, that he picked up a pen from the cushion beside him to continue his work. After a moment, though, he flicked another quick glance toward her.

"...You know," he prodded, "you're perfectly welcome to sit _on _the sofa. I can't imagine the floor is very comfortable."

She turned a page. "I'm fine here."

"You could also use the other chair..."

"No."

All right then. Shaking his own head, he went back to the papers. Yes, she still had a few quirks. His smile had widened just a touch in private amusement, but to each her own, he supposed. Though it really didn't look at all comfortable.

A little more time passed, and he lost himself again, although this time it was in the realm of contracts and proposals. At one point he got up and disappeared into the den, only to return and sit back in his place with two other bigger bundles. He was wearing a slight, studious frown now, and he had papers spread around him in every direction, all carefully placed according to a plan probably only he could truly understand.

Finally, when he was holding the pen in his mouth and flipping through a stack in his lap, he happened to glance up, and again he blinked when he saw that this time, she was watching him. Regal glanced about, then—keeping his place in the papers with one index finger—took the pen from his mouth. "My apologies—did you say something?" The way she was looking at him, it was entirely possible she had just asked him a question and was waiting for an answer.

"...You never give it a rest, do you?" she asked. When he didn't answer, unsure what she was referring to, Raine nodded at the spread around him. "I'm beginning to think you have a physical addiction to paperwork."

He followed her gaze and released a soft chuckle. "You are not the first to say something like that, and you probably will not be the last." His work ethic was something he would own, and had he been forced to analyze it himself, he would probably attribute it to a decade and a half spent away and the fact that he was left with little else but the company to take his attention. He was a man who needed something to _do, _something to take care of, something into which he could pour himself. He always had been.

"Hmm." She laid her had back on the cushion behind her and regarded him thoughtfully. "You need a pet or something, Bryant," she informed him. "A distraction. Something to occupy you. There is such a thing as working too much, after all, and frankly, you're obsessive."

"Well, at the moment, I do have you."

Her brow lifted. "I beg your pardon, but did you just compare me to a domesticated animal?"

Regal had gone back to his papers, but here he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second with a weary laugh. "You do enjoy twisting my words, don't you?" he mused.

Raine flexed her shoulders and picked her head back up, running her fingers through her hair to get it out of her face. "You make it alarmingly easy to do. If you would choose your words more carefully, we wouldn't have this problem. Odd for a man reputed to be eloquent and charming, don't you think?"

"Most people are not quite as cynical as you. Besides, I seem to recall you referring to yourself as 'wildlife.'"

"The operative term there being 'wild,'" she snorted. "Untamed, free; not a lapdog. And this has nothing to do with cynicism and everything to do with self-preservation. One day, you're going to say the wrong thing to the wrong ambitious young lady and find yourself walking down the aisle with your new bride before you even know her name."

"Ah-hah, so this is to be a lesson to me, is it, Professor Sage?"

She gave him a sideways look he had come to recognize as her silent way of saying she suffered none of his cheek, and he met it with an _almost _impertinent smile. Raine just rolled her eyes and returned to her book, and his expression, as he watched her and leaned back himself, turned contemplative.

A pet. An interesting thought, and one he'd never entertained before now. He was a busy man, and having a living creature dependent on him was strangely unsettling. He had nothing against animals, of course. Truthfully, he had never had much direct interaction with them himself. But was she right? Taking a step back these past weeks and having something more to focus on had actually been refreshing.

"...You know, you might have a point," he said at last. Regal set aside what he had in his lap and retrieved his tea. "I've never really considered it before, but that doesn't invalidate the idea." He took a sip and rested one ankle on the opposite knee after being sure not to accidentally bump her head or shoulders. Curiously, he looked down at her. "I wonder if you have any suggestions."

"A cat," she replied offhandedly, turning another page. The promptness of her reply actually surprised him a little.

"A cat," he echoed.

"Yes. You're a fairly independent man with a busy lifestyle. A dog would require far too much attention and tax your patience, and you'd shortly be seeking a new home for the poor beast. Rodents are more trouble than they're worth, and too messy for the house you keep. Birds make a great deal of noise and require considerable training to be proper companion animals. Your best bet, if you want something clean, intelligent, and as independent as you are while still being affectionate, is a cat."

He had set his tea back down, resting his hands in his lap, and just blinked at her as she delivered this speech. He'd expected a reason or two, naturally, but an extensive comparison and explanation caught him off-guard.

"You sound like you've given this some thought before now," he observed, bemused. Somehow, "Flare" didn't fit the profile of an animal lover, and he was intrigued.

Raine paused, and a faint flicker of puzzlement passed through her face, as well, in the form of a slight frown. She lowered the book slowly. "...I guess," she murmured. Gears were turning in her head, and she actually looked slightly unsettled.

Carefully, he set his foot back on the floor and eased forward. "...Flare?" he prompted, confused by her blank stare. "Have you...looked into getting a pet yourself?"

"Don't be absurd." She finally snapped the book closed and set it on the floor beside her, though it looked mostly a restless action. "I have no time for something like that."

Interesting. It certainly sounded like research done, at least on some level, and the confusion he'd seen in her eyes made him wonder. Maybe Flare hadn't thought about it—but maybe Raine had.

Perhaps that was something he should ask Genis about in his next letter. He had been exchanging correspondence with the boy in Palmacosta, laying out the situation as he knew it and soliciting advice on how to get through to her from the one person who knew her best. They had agreed it would be best, for now, if he were to stay away from the island, but he very much wanted her brother to be informed, and having an ally here couldn't hurt.

"...But I did have one," she continued after clearing her throat and brushing hair out of her eyes. He looked back at her and let his head tilt again.

"A cat, you mean?"

"Yes. When I was a child. It was a kitten—a gift from my..." She closed her eyes as if trying to recall, and he held very still. "Yes, from my father. For my eleventh birthday...I think..." Her frown had returned, her eyes open again but narrowed.

Eleven. Wasn't that around how many years older she was than Genis? If she still had memories of that time... "Were you...with the rest of your family at that time?" he asked, carefully toeing the line he tried not to cross.

"My mother...and my father..." Her own head tilted gradually to one side. "And..."

"And?" He leaned ever so slightly further in anticipation.

Several silent seconds passed, but she seemed to snap herself out of it with a jerk. "And the cat and me, I guess," she finally concluded. She rubbed one arm absently, and to his eye, she still appeared unnerved. Still, he leaned back again, just managing not to sigh.

"I see. Well, I'm sure it was a fine companion—"

"I lost him."

Caught mid-sentence, his closed his mouth after a beat. She had turned her head away, and he took in her posture.

"Lost...?"

"While we were on the run. I was holding him, I fell into the ocean, and my father was able to rescue me. But the kitten was lost."

Well, that had taken quite a turn, he thought with a cringe. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

Raine retrieved her book and pushed to her feet. "...It was fifteen years ago," she stated crisply. "I think I'll live."

He eased off the sofa, too. "Are you all right?" She was still affected, but she shook her head.

"Fine. ...Goodnight."

Before he could say anything else, she had brushed past him and made for the stairs, which she climbed swiftly and disappeared down the upstairs hall. He was just left there, staring after her and pondering.

Raine as a cat person.

Huh.


	11. Chapter 10

Thank you to those who continue to read. It feels good to be writing again. Also, I will be taking down version one in the next week or so, just as an FYI. Enjoy!

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He wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. What he did pride himself on being was observant, and last night, he had seen a couple things. For one, something had made her nervous. He wasn't certain what it had been. Maybe she had started to remember something and that scared her. Maybe he was way off the mark and it had something to do with the missing time she wouldn't talk to him about. He was hoping for the former, but to make assumptions about this woman was to invite trouble. He did wish she _would _talk to him, but she still hadn't lost her force field completely.

But the other thing he had noticed was something a little more personal—maybe a little silly, too, but it stuck with him. Whether she remembered something lost or not, she did have memories of her childhood, and one of those memories was of a beloved pet. So she had a soft spot somewhere in there; she liked cats. That was something he could work with.

Why he wanted so earnestly to make her comfortable and happy was another matter entirely, and one he didn't really think too hard about. She was his friend, she was in distress, and she was his responsibility for now. That was a good enough reason, right?

As Regal came down the stairs, hiding a yawn behind his hand, he paused on his way through the living room toward the kitchen, catching sight of silver hair out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look and found Raine sitting curled in a chair with her chin in one hand and her book in the other. He wasn't really surprised to see her up; they were both early risers. What did stand out, however, was that she appeared to be wearing the same clothes as the day before.

Odd...

He changed his direction and came closer to her. She didn't even seem to notice—which was also odd. She was usually astoundingly alert and aware of her surroundings these days. If anyone had been startled over he past couple of days, it had usually been him. She was also very good at sneaking around.

"Flare?" he finally prodded, trying not to be abrupt.

Despite his efforts, he watched the start go through her body. She snapped her head toward him, and her empty hand reached toward her hip as though grabbing at something. It seemed to take a moment for recognition and coherence to return before she stopped staring at him so intensely and relaxed a bit.

"Bryant," she returned coolly.

Now that he had her attention, he came fully into the room to stand behind another chair and rested his hands atop the curved back. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I just didn't hear you come down, that's all."

Regal chose not to voice how strange he found that, all things considered, and instead just studied her when she turned her eyes back to her book. She looked tired. Worried about...something, which worried _him_. But he folded his hands one over the other. "Are you hungry? I was going to get breakfast ready."

"Do as you will."

One brow arched. "...All right. I'll let you know when I'm finished." She made no reply this time but for half of a nod, and he slowly turned to continue on toward the kitchen. Her behavior raised a few warning flags, but if there was one thing he _had _learned about this woman, between the past two weeks and the time spent on the Journey, it was that direct questions about her well-being were largely deflected, and even—especially—roundabout ways of trying to wheedle information were met with resistance.

Still, it didn't seem a coincidence that she was acting this way in light of the previous night. _Something _about that conversation had set her on edge. Hopefully his little scheme didn't backfire on him.

When he had put together two omelets, he went to retrieve her. She did come into the dining room, but she did so quietly. The entire meal was quiet, actually, before he himself spoke up at last.

"I have to leave again this morning," he told her. "I have an errand to run. It shouldn't take terribly long,"

Raine looked up at him from over the food she was picking at. "Are you asking permission?" she asked, dryly, and he smiled slightly. At least her sarcasm was intact this morning.

"No. I just wanted to let you know where I'd be before I disappeared."

"I'm not your wife, Bryant. I don't need to be updated on your daily plans."

He conceded this by inclining his head toward her. "I know, but you are my guest, and I do strive to be courteous."

"I really couldn't care less."

Regal sighed in silence, but he dipped his head again. When they were finished eating and he had taken care of the dishes, he did leave the house. He told her, though she had made it clear it didn't really matter, that it was a meeting. That would hopefully give him enough time to carry out the mission he'd assigned himself.

It took a few hours to track down what he sought. Altamira was a town, but three quarters of its inhabitants at any given time were visitors, not residents. Not to mention it was an island resort. All of this meant things one might find in cities like Meltokio or Palmacosta weren't always available. Sure, one could find just about anything needed for the perfect vacation here—but pet stores... Not so much. That wasn't generally the kind of souvenir people wanted to bring back.

Still, he was a resourceful man—and he did know everyone on the island. Sometimes having connections was helpful.

As promised, after a few hours, he made his way back home. In order to open the door, however, he had to shift a small box into the crook of his elbow. He balanced it carefully, very much wanting to avoid dropping it.

Regal closed the door gently behind him, calling an easy, "I'm back," as he came into the living room. He wasn't at all sure how this was going to go, but hopefully it would not be a complete disaster.

Raine was still in the chair—or rather, it seemed, back in the chair. She had changed her clothes by now, which was a good sign, but she still seemed a little distracted. She was holding a book, but she was just fingering the edge of the page idly. At least she didn't jump when he approached this time. She just blinked her eyes a couple times and lifted her head to look at him.

"Was your 'errand' successful?" she asked. She paused, her eyes drawn to the box he was now setting down on the coffee table. "...Did you go shopping _again_? Are you really that interested in women's clothing, or did you have a sudden need for a new tie?"

"Neither. I did go looking for something, but this would be...difficult to wear, I think."

"I see. Wait, why are there holes in the box?"

"So she can breathe."

"She...?"

He kept smiling as he eased off the lid of the box. From within there came a soft, high-pitched, _mew_. Regal saw her expression shift in his peripheral, but he just reached in and gently scooped up the little gray tabby kitten to cradle it in both hands, though in truth it would easily fit in one. Raine just stared at it, blank faced and undoubtedly surprised, particularly when he came closer to deposit the creature in her lap.

"I took your advice and found a new friend. Little one, meet Flare."

The kitten began to climb all over Raine's leg, stumbling over feet that seemed too big for her tiny, fuzzy body. She nearly tumbled right off the chair entirely, but the half-elf reached out and caught her a little clumsily. It didn't seem to daunt her, though, and his smile widened a bit.

"...And what, exactly, do you expect me to do with this thing?"

The smile faded now, and it was his turn to blink. "Ah..."

She unfolded herself and rose to her feet, and soon he found the furball dumped back into his hands unceremoniously. "This is yours," she stated. "Congratulations, you got a cat. Now _you _get to take care of it. You want a pet, more power to you, but if you expect me to take responsibility for it, you are sadly mistaken. Leave me out of this adventure."

Regal turned around to follow her with his eyes when she picked up her book and brushed past him to head back up the stairs. He looked down at the kitten, who looked up at him, and for a minute their expressions of bewilderment nearly matched.

Well. That answered the question of her reaction, he supposed. It seemed he had touched a nerve, maybe the same one as the night before. Still, she had spoken with such respect, even fondness, that he couldn't imagine she wouldn't warm up to the little thing in the least. She _had _caught her after all. Maybe she just needed time—which was exactly what he gave her.

And in the end, it seemed to pay off.

Occasionally, he had good ideas, and he felt he could safely say, over the next several days, that this had been one of them. Watching her interaction go from wary and standoffish at first to guardedly curious to so far as downright bonded was a treat for him. She had claimed she wanted nothing to do with the kitten, and yet whose book was always being obscured by tufts of soft, striped fur? Whose foot played sparring partner when she thought he wasn't looking? No, she wanted nothing at _all _to do with her.

The uneasiness of that first day seemed to settle back down for a while, too, at least for the most part, and he had to wonder how much he could attribute it to this new distraction. It didn't really matter what had done it, of course. He was just glad something had. He still wasn't quite sure why he himself tensed up so much when she was ill at ease, or why he sneaked glances just to catch a faint smile. It made him happy to see her happy, and he liked it better than the far-off, glassy stares she still occasionally fell into.

Unfortunately for him, she was rather astute, and eventually she caught onto his subtle looks.

"Cruxis, Bryant, what _is _so fascinating about my face?" Raine demanded when she lifted her head that evening to find him watching her again. In truth, he had been entertained by the kitten climbing all over her while she lounged on the sofa. Apparently she was more than happy to use it as long as he wasn't.

"I apologize," he chuckled. "I was just admiring you and your companion." Regal nodded gently to the creature who chose this moment to rub her little face against the corner of the book—and then gnaw on it. He cringed, and Raine, after looking down, pursed her lips and scooped her up to deposit her on the floor to the tune of a quiet, protesting _mrew_. She was embarrassed, and he found it more amusing than he probably should have.

He passed a glance between the two of them and leaned back thoughtfully. "You know," he ventured, "she still needs a name."

Raine turned a page with a flat, "So name her. She's your pain in the neck, not mine."

He regarded her through eyes half-lidded with mirth. "Sometimes I wonder if that's not something the two of you have in common," he told her smoothly.

This earned him quite a look. "Don't get cute."

"Cute?" he echoed on a quiet laugh. That wasn't a word he heard very often, at least not in reference to him. "I'll do my best to avoid it." Shaking his head, he looked down to find the kitten sticking her backside in the air and wiggling it a bit in preparation to pounce on a shadow. It did seem someone else held that particular title anyway, and it was one he would concede very willingly. Not for the first time, he was glad he had made the effort to hunt down this bundle of fur and energy.

He had gotten a cat largely because of Raine's apparent interest in one, but he couldn't deny a more selfish enjoyment. She was still so young, but she was sweet and precious, affectionate and playful, and sometimes he marveled at how something so small could have so much personality. She had certainly adopted them as her own. Which begged the question, it occurred to him as he glanced one more time up at the woman who had returned to reading, of what would happen after everything was over.

If—when—she returned to herself, and she inevitably left Altamira...what of the kitten?

Obviously it was his responsibility, and he would take care of the creature. But to walk into the room and not see the one curled up with the other... It was an oddly sad thought. He _was _used to her, it seemed. And he would miss her when she left.

Shaking away this pensiveness, he reached for the coffee table, where there sat a ribbon that had once bound a stack of papers. He dangled it for the kitten, and she took to the makeshift toy at once.

Regal let the silence sit for a little while as he played with his new friend. At long last, she got herself tangled up in the ribbon and flopped over, apparently having exhausted energy he thought might never run out. He smiled again before straightening and flexing his shoulders back in a stretch as he hummed softly in contentment.

The businessman, it seemed, had retired for the night. He didn't feel particularly productive to launch into another project at this point. But neither was he really tired.

He turned his head toward the glass doors and the sunset outside, and his head tilted slightly.

"...Flare," he hailed after a moment, though he'd nearly called her by name instead. Thank goodness for quick reflexes; he didn't really want to provoke her any further.

"What do you want?"

"Would you like to take a walk?"

Raine blinked and lowered the book, her brow rising a little. "Letting me off my leash? Or is this your tasteless version of a pickup line?"

He released a quiet sniff of amusement. "Neither again," was his lofty reply. "I just thought I'd take a walk and wanted to extend the invitation. It looks like it will be a nice evening."

She regarded him for a few seconds, and it was honestly difficult to tell what she was thinking. But then she closed her book and offered a gentle shrug. "Why not?"

He was pleased—in truth, a little more so than he expected, but he kept this observation to himself and waited for her to slide into her shoes. The kitten (he really did need to name her) was shut away in a room with food and water to prevent her from getting into trouble, and together, he and Raine stepped into the temperate dusk.

They walked quietly for a time. He set a slow, leisurely pace, his fingers hooked together loosely behind his back. She kept a few feet between them, as usual, but he noticed, as they found themselves ambling down a deserted stretch of beach, that she had taken to staring off toward the horizon. Despite the lightheartedness of earlier, she was lost again, and his own expression drew. He still wanted very desperately to ask. And maybe it was just impulsive, but he couldn't quite stop himself this time.

"Something on your mind?" he finally broached.

"...Not really."

He glanced at her again. "If something is bothering you, you know that you can tell me."

"It doesn't concern you."

It may not have concerned him, but he certainly found it concerning. Regal turned his head frontward again, wondering if there _was_ a different angle with which to come at this, or if he really should just drop it. There were still clearly limits to her trust in him, and even during the Journey, "It's nothing," had been a favorite phrase of hers.

Ever private. Ever cautious.

He did leave it alone for a bit, out of respect and, frankly, not knowing how to convince her to open up. But just as he was trying to figure out some other topic of conversation to fill the silence, they came upon something that jarred him right out of his thoughts, and he had to just blink as they got closer to the rocky part of the shore and saw what appeared to be at least most of a big wooden basin.

That was...strange.

Regal had inadvertently stopped walking, and after a step or two more, Raine seemed to realize this. She looked at him, and he nodded ahead to what he was examining before he resumed a slow approach. She drifted after him, lagging behind a bit, but he crouched next to it with his arms draped over his thighs and peered over this glorified driftwood.

"Not much washes up here." he mused. "I certainly wouldn't have expected to see something like _this_. It looks like a—"

"Washtub," she mumbled behind him, so quietly he almost hadn't heard.

When he twisted to look over his shoulder, she was hanging back, staring at the basin with a startling, unblinking intensity. He watched her spine tighten, and slowly, he rose to his full height again. Regal passed his gaze between the object stranded against the rocks, back to the strange expression she wore, and felt himself behind to frown.

"Flare?" he asked carefully.

It was like she hadn't even heard him. Her head tilted, inch by inch, but she never took her eyes away from it. "Thoda..."

"What...about it?"

"There's something...something about the Geyser,,,"

His eyes widened a little, and Regal crept closer to her. The Thoda Geyser was home to Undine's temple, and one of the stops she had made with Colette on the first leg of the Journey. He hadn't been there, but he knew the story. The only way to get from the mainland to Thoda had been...well, riding in something like what they had here.

Was that possible? Did she remember that?

"Go on," he coaxed gently with another step forward.

"I've been there..."

"Yes, you have. You went to find the Temple of Water, remember? First for Colette to release the seal, and then later for Sheena to form a pact with Undine."

"A...unicorn..."

His pulse quickened. She was remembering something. She looked scared and confused, but he wasn't about to let this opportunity pass.

"Yes," he murmured. "As I understand it, you originally sought Undine's aid to reach a unicorn." What was the name of the lake they had visited? "Lake...Umacy, I think. Can you tell me why? Why did you need the unicorn?"

"I don't..."

He rested his hands at her arms, placing himself in her line of sight, but her eyes were glazed over and unfocused. "Think. You're almost there. You're so close. Why did you need the unicorn? _Think, _Raine."

That was it; the line had been crossed. With a physical jolt he both saw and felt run through her body, the spell seemed to shatter. She blinked for the first time, then wrenched herself away from him. "I told you not to call me that," she growled, but he could tell in the way she hugged herself about the middle that she might have shaken the trance, but she hadn't shaken the fear. Silently, he cursed himself.

This was exactly why Genis was staying away. This was why he had been treading so carefully up to now—but she had gotten _so close_.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "Ra—Flare. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you."

"I want to go back. Now."

It wasn't a request, and that much was clear as she spun on heel and started back up the beach with purpose in every step. For a few seconds, he lingered there, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. This had to be traumatic, watching everything she'd thought she knew uprooted before her very eyes. After a sigh, he began to follow, and they returned to the house together in a very weighty silence.


	12. Chapter 11

And with the publishing of this chapter, I will officially be taking down the first version. I have it backed up, but from here on out, it'll be just a fond memory! Regardless, I hope you continue to read and enjoy this rewrite.

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She didn't say another word that evening—not that he'd expected her to—and heaven knew he didn't know what he could possibly say, other than to apologize again. She seemed anything but receptive to that, though, and he curbed the impulse when it resurfaced every time he stole a glance her way. He couldn't see her expression, as for the first time she was actually walking in front of him, but he could see the tension.

They made their way back home in the fading twilight. Regal had to pause at the door to unlock it, and Raine stood to the side with her head turned away until he had. But as soon as he'd pushed it open and stepped inside, she slipped right past him and went directly for the stairs. She didn't stop to retrieve the book on the couch, didn't even look at it. She just vanished up the steps scarcely before he could blink. Just seconds later, he heard her bedroom door slam, and he couldn't help but flinch.

Shaking his head gently, he closed the front door and drifted into the living room. He lowered himself slowly down onto the edge of the sofa and picked up her book to look at it without really registering anything about it. It was a restless action; just something to do with his hands. Thankfully, he didn't sit there in total silence for very long before a faint scratching caught his attention. He straightened up and twisted, confused at first. Then it hit him—the kitten was still shut away. He should probably fix that.

It was the only thing he could fix tonight, it seemed.

Regal set aside the book and rose back to his feet wearily. When he opened the door to the other room, his little charge scampered out at once, and he crouched to scoop her up. She began to purr loudly, and he quirked a faint smile. "Yes, it was rather rude to leave you, wasn't it?" he mused. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say it was for a good cause."

She began trying to climb his arm, so he deposited her on his shoulder. It seemed as good a perch as any, and once she had found stable footing, she didn't appear to mind it. Gently, he scratched at her head with two fingers and let her come forward to sniff at his nose when he looked at her. He had to chuckle when, still purring, she rubbed her face against it. "I take it you forgive me, then. Let's hope Raine does, too, hm?"

Well, he certainly didn't feel any more productive than he had before, and the idea of sitting alone in the ringing silence didn't much appeal. It was getting late; probably best just to go to bed himself, he supposed. So, moving carefully so as not to dump his tiny passenger, he made sure the door was locked and every light downstairs was extinguished, and then he headed up the stairs as well.

He glanced down the hall toward her room just briefly, but there was no light, no movement, no sound, just a closed door. Another silent sigh, and he retreated to his own bedroom. He was unsettled and off center, more than was really justifiable even under the circumstances, and it was with an absent frown that he changed his clothes and turned down his sheets. It was no wonder, then, after he'd laid in bed for a little while, that he had an altogether disturbing dream that night.

They were together, just the two of them, somewhere deep in the Gaoracchia Forest. Shadows danced and swayed around the dim little clearing in which they stood, vines rustling ominously as though waiting for something.

She was back, her old self, but there was no celebration. Something was bothering her. She was apologizing. She was going to leave. Unintelligible voices whispered and hissed from everywhere and nowhere at once, and even in dream, his heart pounded.

This was all wrong. There was something horrible about her leaving. The shadows—they were going to take her. She was going to give in to them, let them smother her, and fade away forever. But why?

No choice, she said. There was no choice. Danger lurked all around them, and this was what it wanted, the only way to sate it.

He didn't understand. He reached for her, wanting to keep her there, begging for an explanation. It would be all right; he would protect her. She didn't have to go...

No. There was nowhere for her in this world. She had to go. The shadows continued to shift restlessly, demanding what they came for. The vines slithered closer. The voices grew louder, called to her. But there was something she had to do before she went, something she had to say. What was it?

Raine, please don't go...

The distance between them lessened in the blink of an eye, though he was certain neither of them had moved. She lifted her face to find his gaze, and his chest squeezed to see the violet replaced with dull, empty gray. He reached his hand out again, but somehow it couldn't quite touch her. The vines reached for her, too, creeping closer with every choked breath he drew.

She said something, but he couldn't hear it. Her hand started to rise toward him, too. He tried to say her name, and nothing came out. But then she closed her eyes and bowed her head again, and his throat tightened in anticipation.

All in the same moment, there was an explosion of noise; the shadows lashed out and completely enveloped her; the entire world gave a sickening lurch—

And he bolted upright, thrown straight out of a dead slumber with his heart still racing, chest still heaving, and horror still wrapped around his foggy brain. Supporting himself with one arm, Regal used the other hand to rub his eyes hard to try to banish the lingering images. Where the hell had any of that come from?

Releasing a rush of air through his nose, he dropped his hand away and finally opened his bleary eyes. What he found when he did startled him more, so much so that he blinked several times just to make sure he wasn't imagining the slight silhouette of a woman sitting perfectly still like a porcelain doll right there next to him on the edge of his bed, her back straight and face cast in shadow.

"Ra—Flare?" he asked, his voice still gritty, as he squinted at her from beneath a brow creased by confusion and concern. That explained why he had awoken the way he did, at least. That she had come to him like this at all, though, in the middle of the night, kept his stomach clenched with worry. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She didn't say anything, just turned toward the adjacent wall. He finally shifted backward a little and sat up more fully, but when he had stopped moving, he noticed something else. It was subtle, almost too subtle to catch, and he felt it more than he saw it. She was...trembling.

"Flare..."

Tentatively, he reached out a hand to touch the back of her shoulder. Her body didn't even twitch under his fingers, which surprised him. For a moment longer, all she did was sit there and breathe, and he waited.

Finally, she spoke in a quiet voice, "Who am I?"

Regal blinked, caught without a reply at first. He chose his next words very carefully and asked, slowly, "What happened?" It couldn't just be the incident on the beach. It had upset her, but surely not to this extent. She had gone from wanting to be as far from him as possible earlier to now actively seeking him out for what was probably the first time.

"...A dream. Or I guess it was a dream—I don't...really know."

Under other circumstances, he might have been amused by this coincidence. Apparently unsettling dreams were a theme of this early hour. As it was, he didn't mention his own. In all honesty, he wasn't even sure he wanted to remember that one.

"About what?" he asked instead, His hand found a more secure place on her shoulder, and without thinking, he let his thumb trail back and forth against the fabric of his nightshirt she was wearing again.

"I don't know," she repeated. "People...places... Things I don't recognize but I feel like I should, somehow. Things that feel familiar but are completely foreign at the same time. I keep seeing things, and I know things that...that I _don't _know, or shouldn't. There's _so much_, and none of it makes any sense, and..." Raine hugged herself around the waist, each hand curling tightly around a fistful of cloth as she drew further into herself. "I don't understand!"

His stomach dropped an inch, a grimace contorting his face. That was probably one of the most poignant things she could have said. Raine Sage, failing to understand something. That, for this woman, would be infuriating enough—but what was more, what she didn't understand was herself. This independent, self-sufficient pinnacle of strength and composure suddenly couldn't rely on her own sharp mind, as that was the very thing that tortured her so. She _was _scared. She was...

Vulnerable.

Oh, Raine.

"We are going to get through this," he assured her softly. "I made you that promise, and I do not intend to break it."

"I don't know who to be," she continued. "What am I supposed to do? Every day, something else is thrown into question. Everything I thought, everything I believed, _everything _is changing, and I can't keep up with it. So who am I? I'm not whoever I used to be, because I don't remember her, I don't know her, I don't know how to _be _her. Everyone has said a hundred different things about who and what I'm supposed to be, but I can't just be _told _what I am andhow to act. I remember everything and nothing in the same instant, and do I remember it because it's real or because that's what I've been told? I'm nothing now. I'm empty. I'm..."

"You're you."

Regal pressed gently against her shoulder in a tacit way to try and coax her to face him, and he leaned forward a little. "Let me ask you a question. What do you want? Not what do you think or remember or know, but what do you _want_?"

"It doesn't matter."

"That's the only thing that matters right now. So answer me. Without analyzing or taking anything, or anyone, else into account, just tell me what it is that you want, where you want to go, what you want to do, who _you _want to be."

She was silent for a long time, her body angled toward him but face turned further away. "...I just want to understand," she said at last. "I want to make sense of these flashes. I want to remember my life. I just...want to be myself again."

He smiled a little. "That's what I want, as well. It is going to take time, and it may not be easy, but we are _going _to get through this, and you are going to remember the brilliant, stubborn, extraordinary woman you were, are, and always will be. Trust me. And have patience."

Without realizing it, he began to rub across her shoulders and the back of her neck. But when she spoke again, he found himself caught entirely off-guard by the words she spoke very quietly, but very clearly nonetheless.

"I want to stay here. That's all right...isn't it? I have to understand and find out what's really happened to me. I hate this feeling, and I don't know what's real, but the one thing I have confidence in right now—the only thing I can trust...is you."

Regal had paused in all motion, unable to do anything but listen. He blinked once, twice. His mouth opened, but no words came. He just stared at her and processed this startling confession.

When he didn't answer, she finally turned her head to look at him, bringing half of her face into a sliver of moonlight. His stomach flipped as he found himself very aware of the complexion turned almost as white as her hair; her delicate features; the warmth of her body under his hand; the captivating color of her eyes.

She was...beautiful.

And...

She needed him. She _wanted_ him.

Unbidden, his dream came to mind, the terror he'd felt at the prospect of losing her. How he had failed to protect her. How he very much now wanted to do just that. Gently, he picked up his hand just enough to brush his knuckles against the line of her jaw as he studied those eyes for what seemed like hours.

Goddess Martel. When had this happened? He _had _grown attached to her, more than he'd realized. He knew this feeling. He'd never expected to feel it again, and certainly not toward her, but he did. He unmistakably did.

"...I'm not going anywhere," he told her at last. Regal leaned forward as impulse took hold of him, and he drew her into his arms. His pulse was quick, but he moved without rush. He felt her tense up at first, no doubt as taken aback by this development as he was, but after a moment she hesitantly shifted to draw her legs up onto the bed and allowed herself to lean into him. He eased back against the headboard after carefully situating his pillow and lowered her head to speak close to hers in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I will not abandon you. That I swear." He stroked her hair once and sifted the ends through his fingers. "It's going to be all right."

He held her that night, letting her drift back to sleep against his chest, and welcomed the protective instinct that rose. Oh, she was still Raine; she would still question, challenge, argue, he was sure. But she _was _still Raine, and she had said herself that she trusted him—trusted only him. That in and of itself was humbling, and he was determined, now more than ever, that that trust would never be misplaced.

He would do everything he could, everything humanly possible, to set things right. Whether she would feel the same after her memory was restored was another question and remained to be seen, but he knew now how he felt, knew the weight and the joy of it, and this slight thing curled up in his grasp had, in the last few minutes, become his first and only priority.

In his youth, he had taken things for granted. With Alicia, he had been blinded by naivete. For half of his life, he had ceased to live at all.

He had made terrible mistakes for himself and those around him. But he was not going to do the same with Raine.


	13. Chapter 12

Still alive, still alive... Took me forever to get this one written, but at least it's done. Enter: Fang, the bane of my beta's existence. Enjoy!

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"Mm..."

As she stirred a little and her mind started to rise to the surface, roused by the rays of early sunlight falling through the far window, she released a deep, contented sigh of breath. She was warm and comfortable, and part of her was loath to move at all. But her eyes finally fluttered open a bit, and the room around her began to register. As did where she was in it.

She was on his bed, curled up half in his lap with her cheek against his collarbone and forehead in the crook of his neck. One of her hands was hooked in the fabric of his shirt, and as she took in the situation, she flexed her fingers a little. Flare lifted her head just a bit, looked up at the line of his jaw, then at his arms, wrapped securely around her, and she blinked. Her cheeks flushed a little as the night before came back to her and it dawned on her exactly what was going on.

It hadn't been part of her dreams. Everything they'd talked about, everything they'd said, done, shared—it had all really happened.

And she had really spent the rest of the night sleeping in his arms.

Carefully, she eased up and away from the chest that rose and fell in steady, even breaths. Bryant remained sound asleep, leaning back against the headboard with his head tipped to one side. It couldn't have been a terribly comfortable position, but even still, he looked so peaceful. Almost experimentally, she reached out a tentative hand to draw it through the ends of his hair. Peculiar, eccentric man...

Flare very gingerly slid out of his hold, though she had to pull up short before she squashed the kitten who had also been dozing beside them. A furry head popped up to blink at her blearily before the creature rolled over onto her back and stretched out with an impossibly big yawn. Hints of a hidden smile tugged at her lips, and in this private moment, she scratched the offered belly with one finger.

It was such a...normal morning. So domestic. So very much not what she was accustomed to.

Dropping her hands back into her lap, she turned her head to regard Bryant again for just a moment longer. At last, she shifted to the edge of the bed and stood up. Here she stretched, too, and rubbed her eyes with one hand to banish the lingering cobwebs of sleep, and then, holding herself around the middle, she padded across to the window.

Flare reached out and drew the curtains a little further aside to peer out pensively. She could hear a few birds singing from somewhere nearby, and the sunrise colors hadn't quite faded from the sky over the water. It was beautiful here, quiet, calm. And more than any of that, it was safe. She was comfortable. In spite of everything she still didn't know and still couldn't figure out...she really was comfortable here.

...With him.

She glanced one more time over her shoulder toward him. Was this wise? she had to wonder. How had it even _happened_? One day, they were enemies; the next, colleagues of a sort; and then, in the span of just a few weeks, she found herself cuddled up with a man and his cat. That same small, weary smile softened her features, and she shook her head gently at herself as she looked back out the window.

Here she was just a person, not an operative, not a spy, not a thief. No agenda. No mission. She was at ease, more here than she ever had been in the Circle, though she was reluctant and maybe scared to admit that. It was strange, the effect he'd had on her from the start. She trusted him. She couldn't explain exactly why, but the words she'd said last night rang true. In a world that seemed to constantly shift and change right under her feet, it felt like he was all she _could _trust, though she'd only known him a short while.

Was that naive? Was she just getting soft?

...Maybe he wouldn't remember, she reasoned. She could leave the room and pretend nothing had ever happened. Maybe he would chalk it up to his own strange dreams. Maybe he hadn't even really been fully awake anyway.

And maybe, just maybe, the kitten would suddenly sprout wings and start flying around.

What a fine, bizarre, convoluted mess this was, hm?

With a snort, she shook her head and turned from the window toward the door. A soft mew drew her attention toward the bed, where his little charge sat, watching her with wide, expectant eyes. Probably hungry, she supposed.

"...Well, come on, then," she beckoned quietly.

Taking her cue, the kitten hopped rather clumsily to the floor and scampered after her as she left the room. Flare eased the door nearly closed but didn't latch it for fear of waking Bryant, and after she had picked up the purring furball, she crept down the stairs and headed for the kitchen to find something suitable at least for feline consumption. She did briefly consider trying her hand at making breakfast for herself, too, and maybe him, but she had observed him closely over the past three weeks, and he was...particular about his kitchen. Aside from the fact that they both knew she wasn't really cut out to be a cook, he very apparently had a system, and she wasn't too keen on messing with that.

So, instead, she just located the stash of cat food he kept for when he _wasn't _spoiling her with table scraps and filled a small bowl. Thankfully it didn't seem to matter; the kitten rubbed up against her ankles and circled her eagerly until she crouched to put it down, at which point she dug in regardless of what was actually in that bowl. Flare regarded her in some amusement, stroking a hand down along her back.

"You know, you really do need a name," she said as she stood back up. "We can't just keep calling you 'the cat' or 'hey you.' I really don't know why he doesn't just give you one."

Not that the little thing seemed to care one way or another. She didn't even look up, just scarfing down her breakfast like she'd never been fed in her life. Flare shook her head and turned to drift back out of the kitchen and let her mind return to wandering in this quiet, still morning hour.

Her book was there on the couch where she had left it the evening before, and she lowered herself to sit next to it, brushing her hand over the cover. Life here was so different than it had been before, when she'd been where she'd once considered home. There, she would have been training, or being briefed, or helping prepare someone else for a new mission. Or she'd be with Fang, and he'd be the one telling her stories of her life before the accident.

A great agent. "One of the most promising," she'd been called. And she'd always striven to live up to that mantle, always tried to make sure she was deserving of their confidence. Of _his _confidence.

She'd never questioned him; she'd had no reason to. He had always seemed so solid and steady and reassuring in the face of the unknown—and yet here she was, doubting her allegiance, doubting _everything_, and assigning those traits to a different man entirely. What was wrong with her?

"So frustrating," she murmured, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"Yes, I imagine being here must be frustrating for you."

Every muscle in her body went rigid, and her eyes flew open wide toward the ceiling. She knew that voice. And it wasn't Bryant's.

Flare snapped her head up and turned it, her nails digging into the cushion beside her leg, and she felt her heart skip a beat when her gaze landed on the last man she'd ever expected to see again.

"F-Fang," she mumbled.

There he was, the Circle's leader himself, with his arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed one over the other as he leaned against the far wall where she hadn't even noticed him. Which was impressive in its own right. He was a tall man, though not as much so as her current benefactor, and his frame was lean but solid. Brown hair was held in a low tail, and shorter pieces escaped on either side to frame the blue eyes and thoughtful features she'd always felt softened him, especially with the smile he had always given her in private—and the smile that, to her surprise and unease, he gave her now.

For months, she had sought and found comfort in that smile. For months, he had been her close companion. A mentor. For months, she had trusted him unconditionally. And this was the man who was supposed to be a fraud? A liar?

An enemy?

She stared at him openly, and when he pushed from the wall to come toward her, she tensed again and shot from the seat to back up one sharp step on instinct. Fang stopped with a blink.

"Hey. It's all right. It's just me, Flare," he told her gently. "Just me."

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" he laughed. It was a chilling sound, in spite of—or maybe because of—the warmth in it. It invited her to join in on the joke, but she was silent and frozen like a cornered animal. "I'm here for _you_."

A bit of ice water trickled down over her head as it dawned on her. There was really only one reason he _would _be here, she realized, and her heart pounded. "...You're here to kill me."

Fang gave her a look of quizzical incredulity. "What? No. Goddess, no."

He came another step closer, and reflex made her put out a hand, mana gathering at her fingertips. "Stay right there," she warned, though she glanced to the side fleetingly. It didn't escape her that she was threatening her leader, the man she'd once sworn to follow, and maybe that explained the ever so slight waver in her stance.

Again he halted, and this time he lifted his hands a bit to show her his palms. "Relax, would you? I'm not here to do anything of the sort. Come on, you know me better than that."

A muscle tightened in her jaw, but she stayed where she was. Did she really know him at all? She wasn't sure. But she did know the Circle.

"I was caught," she said. "The mission was compromised, and so was I. Even being alive right now violates the code, and I'm supposed to believe you're just here for a friendly chat?"

"I'm not here to 'chat'; I'm here to bring you home. What has gotten into you, Flare?"

Her gaze flicked upward before landing back on him, and she swallowed in silence. This didn't go unnoticed, and Fang looked up, too. He closed his own eyes as realization seemed to settle over him. "...It's Bryant, isn't it? He's said something." He kneaded his forehead and sighed. "I warned you to stay away from him," he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Why did you, exactly?"

Fang dropped his hand away and lowered himself into the chair beside him, leaning forward wearily against his thighs. "It doesn't matter now. The damage is done."

"That's not an answer. Why did you tell me so specifically to avoid him?"

"Because he's dangerous, Flare. He's a menace masquerading as a humanitarian, and you're..." He stopped himself with his mouth still hanging open for a second before he closed it to chew on the inside of his cheek and scratched idly at his neck.

"I'm _what_?" she challenged.

"...Nothing. All right." He perched an ankle on the opposite knee and leaned back in the chair to peer up at her. "So what is it? What has he told you?"

Flare was silent, even as he arched an eyebrow and watched her expectantly. Part of her wanted to tell him everything and give him the chance to explain himself—but another part was afraid to say it. So she just stood there, hardly blinking, still ready to cast.

"Well?" he prodded. "By the look on your face, it's a hell of a story."

Still she said nothing, backing up another small step, and he leaned forward again. "Okay then. Well, in any case, I'm bringing you back with me, so grab your stuff and let's go."

"Why? So you can silence me?" she asked quietly.

"What is with this idea of yours that I want you dead? Martel, Flare, if I wanted to 'silence' you, there are easier ways to go about it than coming here myself. We do have a lot of assassins," he chuckled.

"I violated the code—"

"You made a mistake. So? We all do that. You and I are family, and I don't know what he's said to you, or what you're thinking, but I'm not going to let you just rot here on this island because of one bad break. Now put your hand down and come on."

Slowly, Flare did lower her hand, but she didn't move to join him. Instead, she cast a hesitant glance back toward the stairs, toward the room where Bryant slept on. A moment later, she felt him take her shoulder gently, and though it was undoubtedly meant to be reassuring, a start went through her body. But it was clear he'd misread her reluctance when he spoke again.

"Hey... He's not going to stop us. The big oaf's asleep, and he'll never even know we've left." She didn't answer, and he paused to consider. "On second thought, though, maybe you're right. Maybe it's best we just take care of him here and now." Fang patted her shoulder. "Wait here. This won't take long," he mused.

Her eyes widened, and as he slipped past her, she whirled around and caught him by the arm before she could even think. "No!"

He pulled up abruptly and looked back at her, baffled. "_What?"_

Flare opened her mouth, then shut it, and he slowly turned around to face her once more. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she was caught without an answer. Unfortunately, it seemed her expression spoke volumes, because his began to shift.

"...Oh, no. _Oh_, no. You can't be serious. Flare, please. _Please _tell me you don't actually care about him." She turned her head and scowled at the wall. Meanwhile, he dragged a hand down over his face. "I guess that would explain what you're wearing. Goddess Martel, it's worse than I thought. Flare..."

He reached out and took her chin, guiding it back toward him, and searched her gaze. "You don't belong here. You're one of us, and you belong with us. I know things are rough, but you can't change who you are."

Who she was... But that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Her stomach twisted with uncertainty as she studied his face, the line of worry creasing his brow. Months she'd spent with him, listening to his awful jokes and having philosophical discussions in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep and just sitting in his room when everything became too much. That had felt real, but so did this.

"I'm trying to _find _who I am," she finally replied.

He shook his head slightly. "You're not going to find it here. I've known you a long time, Flare—longer than you can remember—and you're going to search until you find the answers, but they're not here. They're not with Bryant."

"...I think you should leave. Now, before he wakes up."

"Have you told him about us?"

Flare blinked. "N-no... Of course not. I wouldn't."

"And that's my point. Even now, you wouldn't betray us, because deep down, you know where you/re supposed to be."

Her face burned, but she pulled it out of his grasp. "I won't give you up," she declared, "but that doesn't mean I want to go back"

Fang dropped his hand limply back to his side and straightened up with another sigh. After a moment of regarding her, he scratched his forehead. "...I don't want to have to do this, Flare, because I don't want to hurt you. I care about you, too, more than this stuffed-shirt aristocrat ever could. But you will _never _belong here—and if I have to remove him from the picture to clear your vision again and make you see that...I will. I promise you that."

Her pulse quickened again at the grim warning, but before she could reply, a soft creaking above alerted them to the man himself finally rising. She looked up for just an instant, but when she went to turn her fearful gaze back to Fang—he was gone.

Her face frozen in dismay and legs feeling too shaky to hold her, Flare sank down on the arm of the nearest seat, deaf to the clumsy, futile scrabbling of a kitten trying to climb onto the cushion. All she heard was that one final threat, delivered in a chilling calm.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter's on the slightly shorter side, but its original counterpart was fairly brief, too. I thought about omitting it, or meshing it with another chapter, but that just didn't seem to lend itself to the aesthetic. It's nice to get a glimpse into how Regal sees things, I think.

But you're here to read a chapter, not my idle ramblings. So... Enjoy!

* * *

There was no doubt he slept soundly for the remainder of the night, but in a position like this, while he'd certainly had no complaints about the arrangement, it wasn't going to last indefinitely. When he opened his bleary eyes, there was sunlight falling across the bed, but he could tell it was still early.

Regal rolled his head to the other side, wincing at the twinge through his stiff neck, and gave his spine a little stretch as well. But it occurred to him, as he lifted a hand to hide a yawn, that his lap and arms were quite empty. There was a brief instant in which he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing, her midnight visit, getting to hold her, the scent of her hair—but when he looked about the room and noticed both that the door was cracked open and the cat was gone, as well as a little nest of sorts in the blanket beside him, he had to smile to himself.

She had gotten up already, but she had most definitely been there. And there was no denying how that made him feel.

He disentangled himself from the bedclothes and rose to dress and prepare for the day. He did so swiftly, though, and when he stood before the mirror and caught hints of that same smile on his own face, he paused as he realized exactly why he was wasting no time; why he hadn't indulged in even just a few moments longer in bed. He was going downstairs _to _someone. Someone he...very much cared about. And someone, he thought, who might just care about him, too.

Tilting his head gently, he permitted himself a minute to reflect on and savor this idea. He'd never realized just how lonely it was, living in this house alone for the past few years. Things had been brighter, and he had certainly found himself happier, since Raine's arrival, though he hadn't thought much of it before now. Of course they'd said their good mornings and had their conversations and shared meals before now, but it was _different _this morning. Everything was different. He still wasn't sure how it had happened, but he wasn't going to argue with whatever providence had landed her back in his life and led her to him last night.

Regal finished pulling his hair back into a neat braid and (after glancing one more time in the mirror despite himself) slipped from the room. He did school his expression at least somewhat as he passed down the hall and descended the stairs. Raine, particularly as "Flare," was a little unpredictable when it came to displays of emotion. She could be jumpy about her own vulnerability, and while he knew he hadn't imagined what had happened between them and knew it had been something significant for them both, he didn't want to presume or push. He wanted to grow closer to her in every way, but that meant going on her terms at her pace.

She had left the room before he was even awake, after all. It was very possible she might be embarrassed or uncomfortable.

When he stepped off the last stair, he immediately looked toward the living room. He came toward the sofa and peered over the back, expecting to perhaps see her curled up there with a book, but though the book was there, she wasn't. Regal blinked and straightened to look around. He did find her, but where she was standing surprised him a little.

She was by the glass doors that led to the deck, one hand against the frame and her back to him as she stared out. The sunlight outlined her form, from the slight wave in her hair to his nightshirt she'd slept in, all the way to her bare feet. He leaned absently against the wall and just admired her for a moment from this small distance. His eyes were drawn, however, to her other hand, which fiddled almost restlessly with a ribbon. This fascinated the kitten sitting rapt at her feet, but this didn't appear particularly intentional. Curiosity flickered over his face.

At last, although frankly he could have just stood there and looked at her for hours, he cleared his throat very quietly to announce his presence. Her fingers stopped fidgeting, but that was the only indication that she'd even heard him at first; she didn't turn her head to look at him until several seconds later. When she did, he offered a little smile and left the wall to join her by the doors.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"...Morning."

Regal subtly gauged her posture, noting the line of tension, the slight shift. So she was bothered—but it was as if she were trying to mask it. Not entirely surprising. He wanted to reach out and brush a bit of hair from her face, but in light of her apparent discomfort, he kept his hands to himself.

"How long have you been up?" he asked instead.

Raine shrugged slightly and tucked the hair behind her own ear. "Just...long enough to come down and feed Azrael."

Here he blinked again. "Azrael?"

Here she gestured vaguely toward the cat, whose eyes were still glued on that ribbon, one paw lifted just slightly off the floor and tail twitching. It took a second, but he finally caught on. She had named their little companion after all. His smile widened, became a little smug, when he raised his eyes again. "I see. Well, I'm sure _Azrael _appreciated that."

She averted her gaze and pursed her lips. "You weren't going to name her," she told him, and he chuckled as he bent over to pick up the kitten in question.

"I would have been forced to eventually, but I must admit, I was waiting to see if you would. And I think it was well worth the wait, hm?" He let Azrael scrabble up onto his shoulder and rub against his jaw, purring loudly. He met her squinting gaze and stroked her head. "She seems to like it. As do I."

"It's just a name out of a book I read."

What a surprise, he mused. "As good a source as any, and undoubtedly better than I could have done."

"Knowing you, you'd have named the poor thing something like _Princess_."

"I think Duchess is more fitting," he teased, and he was rewarded when she snorted and seemed to try hiding a bit of a smile. He didn't consider himself particularly witty, but once in a while even he could crack her mask.

But her smile soon faded, and his went with it when she turned her head away again. "Flare?" he prodded gently. "Are you—"

Regal broke off when he very suddenly, very unexpectedly, found her hair right back under his chin. Her fingers grasped the back of his shirt, her face in his chest, and all he could do for a moment was just blink down at her. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, too, and held her close, though he was careful not to dump Azrael in the process

"What is it?" he murmured. He let one hand trail up and down her back, hoping only to provide comfort in the face of whatever burden she apparently carried. He had thought she was just feeling flustered or self-conscious about the night before, but standing her now like this, with this embrace _she _had initiated, that clearly wasn't the problem.

Still, it was nice, and he couldn't help but note that. This freedom he had, physically and emotionally, to hold a woman after so long... It was surprising how good it felt, and just how natural it felt with Raine in spite of the circumstances. She was small and soft and warm, and she fit perfectly in his arms, and all he wanted was to keep her safe and happy.

"Is it your dream...?" he guessed.

She buried her face further into his shirt just for an instant, and he rested his chin atop her crown.

"...It's nothing," came her quiet reply at last. "I just...wanted to thank you."

The note of hesitation in her voice didn't exactly assuage any of his concerns. She had always been very adept at, and inclined toward, keeping things to herself, and that hadn't changed with the creation of this new persona. Every time Raine had said, "Nothing," it turned about to be quite an important _something_. Somehow he couldn't help but feel this might be the same way.

He pulled away just a little, just enough to try and see her face without releasing her. "For what?" Out of instinct, he began to rub her back again. Little Azrael had curled up against his neck, where she had apparently decided was her rightful place, and he could feel the rumbling purr, but his eyes were still on Raine.

"Just... No, nothing," she reasserted. Now seeming as if she truly was flustered, Raine let go of his shirt and brushed hair from her forehead.

Regal frowned a little. She didn't remember this pattern of denial, but he did, and it made him itch. "Are you certain?" he pressed, but she simply nodded.

"Yes." This time her response was a little more sure, and just a bit clipped. Whatever had brought on this morning's unease, she clearly wasn't going to elaborate. It wasn't really a shock, to be honest; for all that he knew and had learned, she still had her secrets. It was bound to take time to uncover them all.

"...All right," he conceded. This time he did use his fingers to tuck her hair back and let them linger. "But if there is something you'd like to talk about at any time, I'm here."

She was quiet at first, but at last she looked up and let him search her gaze. Curiously enough, she seemed to be doing the same. "I know," she finally confided. Raine shook her head before turning it away once more. "It's really nothing. I should get dressed."

He turned and followed her with his eyes when she stepped around him and made to head back for the stairs. Just a trace of a frown creased his brow as he watched her resume fidgeting. "...Flare."

She paused and glanced over her shoulder, and he just studied her. She was good at redirection, and he didn't want to press any further, but...

At length, after looking at the kitten still balanced on his shoulder, he released an inward sigh and linked his hands behind his back. "Are you hungry?"

Raine blinked, but after a beat her mask dissolved into a short chuckle. "Every time I turn around, you're asking me that question. I think you're overly attached to your kitchen."

Here he relaxed into his own smile and was graceful enough to lower his head briefly and laugh at himself. "Forgive me. I am a man of simple pleasures, easily amused."

"And remarkably fixated. Company business and cooking, your two obsessions. Are there any more I should know about?"

"None that immediately come to mind, but I'll certainly keep you updated if I think of something."

Again she shook her head and resumed her path toward the stairs. "You do that," she told him before vanishing around the corner. His gaze lingered after her for another moment, but in the end, all he could do was be patient.

At least, he reflected, angling toward the kitchen, he knew where _they _stood. For now, that was enough for him.


	15. Chapter 14

New chapter up! I actually wrote this one for the most part a little while ago, when I was feeling motivated and into this scene. Been waiting to publish it since. Here we go!

* * *

_"You don't belong here. You could never belong here. And if I have to remove him from the picture to clear your vision and make you see that..."_

She opened her eyes to meet them in her own reflection as Fang's voice echoed in her mind. Her hands gripped the windowsill so tightly her arms shook, and despite the sober face staring back at her, all she could see was someone else's. It smiled at her, calm and soft, and then from behind it, the glint of steel. It came closer to him with every loud beat of her heart. Somewhere her voice screamed for him to move, to get out of the way, to _go_, but he just stayed where he was.

_"And if I have to remove him from the picture..."_

Her fingernails scraped paint straight off the wood, but she couldn't look away. She watched those blue eyes go wide, the smile fade, the color drain, and a sickening red spatter took over her field of vision.

A violent start went through her entire body at the quiet clank of dishware in the kitchen, and she snapped her head to the side to look over her shoulder. An instant later, she released in a rush a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding and brought one hand, stiff and sore with tension, up to rub her eyes and banish the grisly scene. She had gotten dressed and returned downstairs, but she remained hidden away in the other room.

It wasn't an idle threat, and she knew it. Fang didn't bluff—not about things like this. He was ruthless when it came to protecting his people. A more determined, stubborn man she'd never met, and she had absolutely no doubt in her mind that he would do exactly as he said.

Bryant was a hostage. And he didn't even know it.

Taking another breath, she braced herself once more against the windowsill and leaned over it, hanging her head. What the hell was she supposed to do? Three weeks ago, she'd have snapped his neck herself and very happily sailed away with her leader. Three weeks ago, there wouldn't have been a question. Without these past three weeks, it wouldn't have made any difference. But the past three weeks had happened, and they made _all _the difference.

Flare forced herself to remain standing, though only with the help of the sill, and set her forehead against the glass. Why was this hard? She had had a life before Bryant. Sort of. She had friends back in the Circle—she had _Fang _back in the Circle. Everything she'd ever known, as little as it was, was back with the order. But...Bryant was here. And according to him, according to every flash and fragment she'd caught thus far, everything she'd ever known?

It wasn't real.

So what...the _hell_...was she supposed to do?

"Flare?" he called. "Breakfast is ready."

She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. It was a second or two before she could be certain her voice was under control, but she replied with a cool and deceptively unaffected, "I'm coming." She didn't move, though, not yet. It would be a little longer before she could convince her legs to stop shaking.

Lifting her head, but still not straightening up, she studied her reflection again. Whose was the face staring back at her? Flare? Raine? Who was to say she was really either? Even with the glimpses she had gotten, even with everything everyone told her, she still had no idea who she was, even what she was. But in the wake of Fang's reappearance, real, solid, whole memories of the Circle rang clear as day. She _remembered _being an agent. She remembered the people, the briefings, the training. And suddenly, she felt very out of place here, in the "normal" world.

_"You will never belong here."_

She had tried to silence Fang's words, but they stuck with her, as chilling as the threats. Was he right? Even if everything Bryant said was true, was it futile to try to regain everything she'd lost? She had stayed in Altamira only because, at the time, she had been certain she'd be killed on sight by her old comrades. Now she had been offered a pass, a clean slate, and a place back among the familiarity and comfort of what she'd once considered home. The problem was she had gone and done something stupid, and the definition of "home" seemed to be rapidly changing. She had gotten comfortable here. She had come to accept it, to like it, to like _him_.

But none of that mattered if he were dead.

Finally she opened her eyes again to stare unseeing at a spiderweb in the corner outside the window. Everything he had done, he had done for her, and what she did to repay him was place him in imminent danger, Simply by being there, she put his life on the line. Fang _would _kill him, without hesitation and without mercy. It was what the Circle did. It was who they were. And maybe...who she was, too. After all, she knew how to be Flare far better than she knew how to be Raine. She didn't even understand Raine. So then...that was it, wasn't it?

She had to go. For everyone's sake—for his sake and maybe even hers—she had to go back. Back to the only life she remembered.

It was like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach as she finally stood back up. She had no time to dwell, though, before she heard footsteps approach. One final instant to school her expression, and she turned to face him just as he reached her, a small, slightly quizzical smile on his face. Out of reflex she glanced over his shoulder, but it was just the two of them in the room. Or three, as he was holding little Azrael in the crook of one arm.

"What are you doing all the way over here?" he asked, and she made a vague gesture toward the window.

"I was just admiring the view. Your little resort is lovely when it's not teeming with half-naked tourists."

Bryant's smile widened a touch. "It is rather nice to live in a quieter area. I've been known to take many a sunrise stroll around this part of the island myself."

Yes, that sounded like him. Flare flashed him a fake little smile and fell into step behind him when he started back toward the dining room. Silently, even as she took the seat he offered her, her mind was starting to work on an escape plan, but she had to be business as usual. If he caught so much as a whiff of her intentions, he would likely do all he could to stop her, and then they would both be in trouble. So she picked up the fork beside her plate and looked down at the food her stomach really didn't want and, despite its protests and how difficult she found it to swallow, took a small bite.

"So I was thinking," Bryant began after a few moments as they ate, tossing tiny bits of egg and meat down for an eager kitten to lap up. Flare had been keeping quiet, doing little more than going through the motions while she thought and pondered and planned, and his voice actually took a second to register. When it did, she looked up with one eyebrow raised in a practiced mask.

"Don't strain yourself,' she purred.

He gave her a good-natured look and shook his head. "Do you recall when I mentioned that you lived for a time in Iselia?" he chuckled. "With your brother, teaching at the school?"

"You do realize that my short-term memory is just fine. It's before we met that I can't remember. Pardon me—before we met _again_."

Bryant kept smiling, and though she wouldn't admit it, she liked the sight of it. It was a comforting expression. "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed. In any case, what would you say to paying the village a visit? You did spend years there, and I thought perhaps it could jog your memory. It's worth a try, anyway. At the very least, it would be a chance to get out of Altamira," he added, and she very nearly flinched. Her fingers twitched, and she was lucky not to drop her fork.

Out of Altamira, he said. Oh, the irony.

Deliberately placing the utensil aside lest it betray her, she reached instead for her glass of water and took a sip to fill the moment she needed for her heart rate to even back out. "One problem."

"Oh?"

She gestured with her head toward Azzy, who was at this moment staring up at him wide-eyed and waiting for her next morsel. "What would you do with the furball you just acquired?"

He looked down, then leaned over and scooped up the little creature. "We could take her with us," he mused.

Flare pulled a face. "You want to go to the other side of the world with a kitten as your traveling companion? You're either very brave or incredibly optimistic."

"I've been called worse," he replied easily, and she snorted.

"I know. I've heard most of it and said some of it myself." She regarded him for a moment. "...You really are an odd man, Bryant," she observed. "A duke and company executive who cooks for himself, cleans his own home, makes a house guest of a woman accused of terrorism..." Flare watched him hand-feed a little piece of bacon to Azrael with a fond little smile still on his face. "...And falls in love at first sight with small, fuzzy animals."

Here he laughed again. "If those things are what make me 'odd,' I will happily accept the charge and take it as a compliment."

"You would, I suppose." Shaking her head with a small smile of her own, she looked back down at her plate. It faded, though, slowly. She couldn't afford to get lost in this banter, and it was far too easy to do so. She had to find a way out of this house, quickly. And while she started to reach back for her fork, the roiling of her stomach told her in no uncertain terms that she would not be continuing to eat. A grimace just barely passed over her features, but she finally set the fork down on the plate and rose to her feet with both in hand.

He blinked, holding the cat back from the table with one hand. "Is there something wrong with your food? You barely touched it."

"Not at all. Unfortunately, I just don't seem to be all that hungry this morning."

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, albeit tired. Last night wasn't exactly what I'd call restful." At least not the first half. The second... That, she was okay with. Flare turned and headed for the kitchen, keeping this pensive sentiment to herself. Unsurprisingly, she heard him follow after her. A glance back showed he was carrying his own mostly-empty plate. He tried to take hers when they got to the kitchen, but she fluidly stepped around him and out of his reach.

"You're not the only one who likes to do things for himself," she informed him. "I'm a big girl. I think I can manage to wash dishes."

Bryant conceded this with a dip of his head and raised one hand, palm facing her. And after she had scraped the remainder of her breakfast into the trash (he might be willing to spoil Azrael, but she had no such softness), the two tackled this chore together. It was the picture of normalcy. It was excruciating.

"So?" he finally piped up, running a towel over the clean plate in his hands.

She glanced at him while she worked to scrub the other and used the back of one damp hand to tuck hair out of her face. "So what?"

"A trip to Iselia. What do you think? Would you like to go?"

She handed him the second plate and stepped around him to retrieve another towel and hide her expression. "I told you once before. You're the one in charge here, My Lord; do as you will," she told him loftily.

Bryant set both dishes down on the counter with a soft sound of amusement. "And I told you, you're not a prisoner here. But," he added, taking a slow step forward, "if you insist upon giving me complete freedom..." Gently, he slipped his arms around her from behind. "I won't object."

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying not to feel the rhythm of his heart in the chest she was pressed against. When she had managed to recover, she tilted her head back to peer at him through half-lidded eyes and hints of a wry smile. "You _are _brave," she purred quietly. "I do believe I warned you when we made this arrangement not to get any ideas."

"Mm..." He lowered his head to place his mouth by her ear and murmured, "I don't recall _agreeing_." He punctuated his statement by nuzzling the side of her head and drawing his fingers back through her hair, and she rested her hands on the arms that held her, staring straight ahead with pain just below the surface. Part of her was amused, and there was a thrill sent through her fingers at his touch. He was warm and sweet, and he would make someone a fine companion someday...

But reality was just outside. That someone wasn't her, and that someday was not today.

Flare eased herself around in his grasp until she faced him, and he was smiling down at her. That smile. "You know, we could go today, if you'd like," he told her softly. Despite herself, she cocked an eyebrow.

"A bit short on notice, isn't it? By the way you eat, sleep, and breathe Lezareno business, I was sure the corporation would crumble without its devoted president."

"One of the benefits of being 'a duke and company executive,'" came his impish retort, "is the privilege of delegation. I will have to actually go into the office this morning and tie up some loose ends, but it shouldn't take more than a few hours, and then we can leave this afternoon."

Odd and impulsive. But after a beat, she blinked when it occurred to her what he'd just said. He would go into the office for a few hours. He would be gone. She would be alone in the house...

"Good," she mumbled before she could stop herself, and he tilted his head. Quickly, she looked back up at him. "Sorry, I meant...I think it's a good idea. Goddess knows I won't complain about getting out of this place, and if there's a piece of my life in this backwater Sylvaranti village, I'd like to find it."

For a moment longer, he seemed to search her face, and she turned it to look at him sideways. "What?" she asked.

Finally, Bryant shook his head a little. "...Nothing." He brought his hands up to cup her jaw. "Although a woman as beautiful as you should be well used to stares by now," he teased. She closed her eyes again briefly at the gentle kiss he pressed to her forehead and tried to ignore the stab it sent through her chest. He let his nose rest against her head for just a few seconds longer while tension tightened every muscle in her back, but at last he released her with a contented sigh.

"All right. I'll get everything together and go now. You should get ready while I'm gone. When I return, we'll have lunch and then go. Yes?"

"...Sure."

Flare drifted after him as he left the kitchen and stood there in the doorway, holding Azzy herself now in one hand while the other absently stroked her soft head. She watched him bustle about the house, gathering what he had been working on over the past few weeks. There was an easy smile still riding his lips, and she followed him with her eyes wherever he went, feeling sick to her stomach. This would be the last time she'd see him, and everything was sinking in. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to leave Altamira. She didn't want...to leave him.

At last, when it seemed he was ready to actually leave, something gripped her. She had come out to stand by the sofa in the living room, but as he passed by her this time, she set down the cat and reached out to catch his elbow. "Bryant."

At once his undivided attention was back on her. He shifted his burden into one arm and faced her very directly. "What is it?"

She didn't answer at first, just studying his face. It was a long two minutes before she finally closed the remaining distance. Her expression was a little shy, a little uncertain, but she took a handful of his shirt and tugged him down, rising to her toes to meet his lips in an impulsive kiss.

He still had a stack of papers in his grasp, but that didn't stop him from coiling the other arm around her waist and holding her close as he returned that kiss, and she lost count of the seconds that passed, cursing Fang, the Circle, and everything she was about to do. She just clung to him for those fleeting seconds until they parted, and she had to look down instead of meeting his gaze for the first instant. When she did lift her face, he tilted his head slightly.

"What was that for?" he asked, hushed.

"I...decided to bid you a traditional farewell." Behind her back, one hand drew into a fist.

"You say that like you'll never see me again. I won't be gone that long,' he chuckled, one arm still wrapped around her.

"Is that a complaint?" she asked, the cheekiness in her tone covering for the pain of fingernails biting into her palm.

Bryant smiled down at her affectionately, and he finally released her to brush his knuckles down along her cheek. "...No," he murmured. "Not at all."

"I didn't think so. ...Now go—the Lezareno awaits."

There was one more moment of him just _looking _at her. But at length, he nodded and slipped out the door. She closed it gently behind him...and then wasted no time.

Ignoring the _mew _of the kitten vying for her attention, Flare climbed the stairs two at a time and headed for her bedroom. She didn't let herself really look at the room or anything in it, going directly for the clothing she'd been wearing upon her first arrival to the island. Changing was done swiftly and silently, but when she set aside the new clothes, folded neatly, on the trimly-made bed, she couldn't quite keep herself from smoothing the fabric of the oversized nightshirt beside them with one wistful hand.

Another cry at her feet made her look down, and it was with some surprise that she found Azrael standing there, apparently having managed to scramble up the stairs, though she couldn't imagine how. Azzy just stared at her, and she could hear the loud purring as she sat and curled her stubby tail around herself. She looked so innocent, almost inquisitive, and it begged the half-elf to reconsider.

"...No," murmured Flare. "I'm sorry. I can't." She crouched and gave the striped head one final stroke, then closed the door and retreated back down the stairs, ignoring the scratching and mewling behind her.

When she arrived back in the living room, she pulled up abruptly at the sight of Fang standing there again, watching her. He wore a cloak now and held one with a matching clasp in his arms, along with her staff. There was a smile on his face, too, and she shuddered to see it. But he just offered the items, and slowly, she came forward to retrieve them.

"I had a feeling," he told her quietly, holding to the staff until she had donned the cloak and drawn up her hood. "You've always been the smartest person I know."

Flare took the weapon and set its butt against the floor, meeting her leader's gaze with stone in hers. "And Bryant will be left alone?" she asked lowly.

"You have my word. From here on out, it will be as if none of this ever happened. We'll start over, and you'll finally come home." He took her head in his hands, and a muscle twitched in her jaw, but she simply stood there. "It's for the best. You belong with us; he could never understand." Fang kept smiling at her, a pained, knowing expression, and he finally pulled her into his arms. "Welcome back," he murmured in her ear, "Lunar Flare."

Over his shoulder, her eyes widened. A Second... She had her Second. The only thing she'd ever wanted, and it was hers now.

So why, as he pulled her from the house by one hand and off toward the harbor to say goodbye to her temporarily normal identity, did the triumph feel so empty?


	16. Chapter 15

Phew! Done. This chapter is perhaps the most different from its original counterpart, but I do think I like it better. It's a lot grittier, much more serious, and tackles the massive elephant in the room when it comes to this pairing. I don't write angry Regal too often, but I'm pretty sure he's justified in this one. Enjoy!

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That he was a man devoted to his work would, were he honest, probably be a gross understatement. Raine herself had noted his "obsessive" work ethic. He liked the feeling of tasks finished, problems solved, the productivity and satisfaction of a job well done. Living a fairly isolated life as he had over the past few years, and before that developing a need to keep himself busy to stay even remotely sane, he supposed it was to be expected. He was a businessman, through and through, industrious, nose to the grindstone.

At least most of the time. Today was...a little different. Everything he did, he did with some measure of haste. He wasn't careless, and he didn't rush heedlessly through anything, but it was safe to say that his mind wasn't completely here in the office with his body. Maybe that explained why one hand was tapping his pen repeatedly against the desk while he read over the sheet of paper in the other.

The hours in this room had never before passed so slowly.

"Here you are, Master Regal."

Regal looked up to find George in front of his desk, holding out a folder he had forgotten he had requested not ten minutes before to be fetched from the archives. It took a few seconds of blinking before it came back to him, but with a soft, "Ah," he set aside his paper and accepted it, rising to his feet to cross the room with long, quick strides toward a cabinet. He sifted through the folder's contents and made short order of filing away most of it before taking the rest back with him to his desk.

He made a couple more trips back and forth, sorting through progressively smaller stacks with deft hands. All the while, his old colleague stood there in the center of the room and watched him quietly, his presence mostly background noise to the duke. At long last, he spoke up again.

"I don't believe I've seen you this anxious to _leave _the office in a number of years, sir."

Again Regal lifted his gaze, and he quirked a small smile before tucking away another signed sheet of paper for his own files. "I haven't had good reason to be in a number of years," he replied easily. After all, he thought, his smile twitching a little wider as he closed the cabinet and once more retreated to his desk to finally sit back down, he hadn't had anything, anyone, waiting for him outside in a very long time.

"You seem to be looking forward to this trip you intend to take, It's nice to see you finally taking someone's advice and getting away. And I daresay you're in better spirits than I've seen in some time."

"I daresay that's true," he mused.

George paused, then broached an almost cautious, "How _is _Ms. Sage, by the way?"

"Confused," he said as he signed the bottom of another document, "a little nervous. Still suspicious, but we seem to be making progress, and I think getting out and seeing Iselia will benefit her."

"And you, sir?"

He chuckled. "Quite possibly. But at the very least, even if she doesn't remember the village, it might help her understand more of who she is." Regal leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "At this point, I'll admit I'm optimistic."

"...About multiple things, it would appear."

Here, he flicked his gaze up to find George watching him again. The old man had his hands behind his back, his posture squared and professional, but there was a level of...concern creasing his brow as he regarded his employer. "I'm sorry?" he prodded, not quite sure what the implications there were supposed to be.

His vice president looked down at the floor for a moment. "I'm certain I don't need to tell you this, sir, but there is a great deal of...unease, shall we say, about your colleague. By all definitions, she is a criminal, and there is talk of the pursuit of justice, some manner of restitution at the least."

Slowly, he nodded. "I see. Well, it's inconvenient, to say the least—but I think we can agree there are extenuating circumstances. The Lezareno Group will compensate all those affected, and repairs have already begun on the second floor of the hotel. Things are moving along as well as can be expected, I'd say."

"Perhaps. But we have received correspondence, several letters asking why the company has not moved forward with formal charges. And why you yourself have, in fact, been so ardent in her defense."

"'Ardent'? She's a good friend, George, and a good person caught up in something beyond her own control. Of course I'm going to defend her."

"Is that all?" came a quiet challenge, and Regal once more fixed the other man with one arched brow.

"Is what all?" he asked.

"No matter the source, I have seen you tear apart every condemnation and accusation. If there is a single word spoken against her, you advocate for her to the very last and humiliate any poor fool who dares, despite what she has done."

He set down his pen with a sigh, but also some confusion. George knew the situation. He'd explained it before. Why were they even having this conversation? "As I said," he stressed, "extenuating circumstances. I advocate for her because she's the biggest victim in this madness, and I'll not have her name smeared by people who don't know her as I do."

"And how is that, Master Regal?"

"What?"

"Exactly how well _do _you know her?"

The other brow joined the first. An odd question, to be sure, but he was silent for a few seconds. How well?

He knew many of her quirks, her passions, her voice and the manner in which she spoke; he knew her face, her bright, intelligent eyes, and the way she held herself; he knew the questions she had, her present insecurities and vulnerabilities; he knew which book she favored from his collection, and what foods she did and didn't like. He knew her scent, her warmth when he held her, and even the taste of her kiss now. He still had a lot to learn, but...

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and at last he replied with a reflective, "Well enough."

"And therein, I'm afraid, lies the problem."

Regal blinked, taken quite aback by this statement. "Pardon? My acquaintance with Raine is a 'problem'?"

George closed his eyes. He still looked a bit hesitant, but there was an uncomfortable sort of tension creeping into his junior's shoulders. Something as yet unspoken. Something very familiar.

"...Sir. I am an old man. But I am not yet senile. Every time you say her name these days, you do so almost reverently. Every time we speak of her, you begin to smile. She has become more than a mere 'acquaintance.' Am I correct?"

Well, that was bold, and he wasn't sure he at all appreciated it. He didn't have anything to hide, wasn't ashamed of his feelings, however unexpected, but something in the man's tone felt remarkably intrusive. Frankly, particularly at this early stage, it was no one's business but theirs. It would have been one thing if this were some good-natured tease, but it seemed almost an accusation instead and left him wholly uncomfortable.

He set down the pen he'd picked up again very deliberately and folded his hands on the desk. "I don't believe I'm obligated to answer that," he stated, a very slight edge of warning sharpening his words.

"No, sir, you are not. However, I feel it is _my _obligation to bring to your attention the potential ramifications should you choose to pursue such a..." He paused, then finished carefully, "an incongruous match."

The bottom dropped straight out of his stomach as it finally hit him why they _were _having this conversation. Why it felt so damned familiar. Why there was a _problem_.

He couldn't be serious. After everything they had been through?

"Incongruous." There wasn't anything special about the word, but as he repeated it, it tasted repulsive. He rose slowly out of his chair, palms flat on the desk, and locked his flashing gaze with George's. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Master Regal—"

"You, of all people, have _no _right to make that judgment." His voice was low and dangerous, and he could feel his heart pounding with the rising tide of anger and disbelief.

"Please don't misunderstand me, sir," George urged. "I have no intention of interfering."

"Again?" he snarled.

George dipped his head in concession. "Again. But I would be remiss if I did not point out the difficulties that will be faced by you _and _Ms. Sage if this goes forward. The reality cannot be ignored."

"After everything that happened, everything you did, have you learned nothing? Status? Class? Titles? They mean less than nothing to me, and you know that.."

"Nevertheless, they are important in our society—"

"Society be damned!"

"Do you truly think the world will be kind to you? To her? Alicia was a maid, far beneath you, and they frowned upon her." Regal stiffened at the name, but George continued. "This time, not only is she outside of your class, but she is not even of your race. A half-elf, involved with Tethe'allan nobility? Master Regal, I implore you to see reason, for the sake of you both. She will be despised, but unable to escape the public eye, and everything you have built as a duke and the president of the Lezareno will be in jeopardy. It would place both of you in the line of fire. To assume anything else would be nothing short of utter naivete."

It was a good thing, for all involved, that there was a desk between the two of them. Instinct wanted to reach out and grab the man by the neck. Instead, he just leaned a little closer.

"You listen to me," the duke growled, "and listen well. Raine is more than 'a half-elf.' She is a woman, and one about whom I happen to care a great deal. I know where our differences lie, and I know what that means. Nothing about my position makes anything easy, nor ever has, and I will walk into this with eyes wide open. Yes. I was naive twenty years ago, little more than an inexperienced boy, but the only reason, the _only _reason, I regret falling in love with Alicia is because of what you did to her. I am a patient man, and I accepted what you did, choosing to believe it came from the best of intentions and the most limited knowledge of the consequences, But that you can stand here now, look me in the eye, and continue to claim that you know best with that blood on your hands is absolutely _inconceivable._"

He shoved himself away from the desk so hard it scooted an inch as he rose to his full height again. "I am not blind. I am not a fool, and neither is she. She is stronger than the world you fear, the world that would dictate her life and mine. If we face criticism, so be it. The only opinion I give a damn about is hers, and I will defend with every breath our right to live as we please, with whom we please, wherever, whenever, and however we please. I will continue getting to know her as long as _she _will allow and take my cues from _her_, not from the court; not from the outdated prejudice of arrogant, ignorant cowards."

"But, sir—"

"No. You don't get to speak." He had scarcely even blinked, just holding his manager in a steady, icy stare. "From this moment on, in every thought, action, and word, you will afford her every shred of the respect she deserves. Which is a hell of a lot more than you do," he added venomously. "Do you understand me?"

There was silence. George had his head bowed again, his eyes closed, but he said nothing.

"I said," Regal pressed, "do you. Understand me."

"...Yes, Master Regal," came a soft reply at last.

He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice, though it lost none of the fury. "Get out."

Without a word, George gave a slight, stiff bow, turned, and retreated from the room. Only once he was in the elevator and out of sight did Regal release an angry rush of air and turn his head savagely to one side to stare daggers at the far wall.

He honestly couldn't believe that was a discussion he had just had to have. Certainly, a relationship like theirs wouldn't be easy, wouldn't be simple, and they'd have to fight for it. He knew that. Maybe he hadn't wanted to think about it just yet, while everything was still new. Maybe it was a good thing _to _think about—but not a reason to change his mind. Not a reason to think twice about the feelings he had for her. And to have _George _dare to bring it up made him shake with raw, incredulous rage.

He pressed his forefinger and thumb against his eyes and bade his blood pressure to lower even a little. It was true that they faced a difficult path, but it was his job to walk through it all at her side for as long as she'd have him, whatever that looked like. Nothing was going to threaten her unless it went through him. Not her current struggle, not anything to come. Of that he was certain.

When he dropped his hand away and looked over the desk, the papers a little disheveled by his movements, his eyes could barely focus on any of them. ...That was it, he determined. The day was done. He was done. All he really wanted in the wake of that fiasco...was to go home and see her. Leave the island behind, just for a little while, and spend time with _her_. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Deciding that what few tasks remained could wait until his return, he stowed them away in a drawer, grabbed his suit jacket, and made for the lobby. His face was still hard, his shoulders still tight, and no one he passed even tried to speak with him. He did take a deep breath in the interest of not scaring his poor receptionist when he paused by her desk.

"Please inform everyone that I am leaving and will send word of when I expect to be back," he requested evenly.

"Yes, sir. Oh, Lord Bryant?" she called as he resumed his path toward the tram.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Enjoy your trip."

Finally, a little of the steel cracked, and he smiled ever so slightly. "I intend to," he assured her before finally leaving the office altogether.

By the time he had finally made it back to the house, he was still upset, but his pulse had leveled back out. He was just eager to get inside and maybe, if she'd let him, get another chance to hold her. It would undoubtedly do wonders for his mood.

"Flare," he hailed after he'd stepped inside and shifted back out of his public mindset. He still privately thought and spoke of her by her real name, but he did respect her wishes to be addressed by the strange alias. When he hung up his jacket and looked around, though, the room was dark and empty. Her book was still there on the couch upon closer inspection, but she was quite absent. Odd. Maybe she was still packing her things.

Regal began climbing the stairs with quick, light steps. "Flare? I know you're getting tired of being asked this," he chuckled as he reached her bedroom door and rapped on it, "but are you hungry? "

There was no answer from within, but after a second, he heard a quiet scratching on the other side. He recognized the sound of Azrael's claws by now, as she really didn't like being behind closed doors, but the lack of any other sound had him a little confused. Had she gone back to sleep? She had been tired, but it was around midday at this point.

"Flare?" Carefully, he eased open the door—and immediately had his foot pounced on by a little kitten who greeted him with quite an unhappy meow. But the room from which she fled was as dark as the rest of the house, and when he peered in...it was just as empty, too.

He blinked and opened the door the rest of the way. A frown began to settle over his face, and he drifted in after absently picking up Azzy. "Where is she, little one?" he murmured. "Where is..." He stopped there by the bed and looked down, and a chill went through his spine.

All of her clothing was there, neatly folded and organized, every piece she'd acquired since her arrival to the island. And there on top, laid out rather deliberately, was the nightshirt. He reached out to pick it up gingerly, then slowly turned back toward the door with concern in his eyes, numb even to the little creature butting her head up insistently against his cheek.

"Raine, where are you?" he whispered.


	17. Chapter 16

Hello! So I'm finally putting up this chapter. Starting here, what I post will be remastered/edited/improved versions of the old story's chapters, so less rewriting and more reworking, until I hit the place I stopped last time. I know it's not as exciting as brand new work, but I encourage you to follow along with it all the same and see the improvements. The reason I'm doing it this way is because starting around this point in the story is when my writing became more reminiscent of my current style and skill level, so it doesn't need to be completely started over, but I definitely have still edited through the entire thing and brought it further up to snuff. So enjoy, and stick with me - we'll get back to the new stuff soon!

* * *

Coming back was not coming home, and it was a sobering reality. Coming back was more uncomfortable, more unnerving, than being away had ever been. She was out of place here, and unhappy. More than that, she was suspicious, and that was something she had never felt before—not here. Fang told her it would pass. More than once he had apologized in private for sending her out "before she was ready," and she took all of his words, but they didn't reassure her as they would have not long ago. That, more than anything, bothered her. Why couldn't she just trust him again?

Why had she trusted him so to begin with?

Flare brought her staff up to rest the shaft gently against one shoulder as she walked, straight and silent, down the one long, wide hallway they just called The Tunnel. It was an odd name, really, considering that the entire facility was one big hole in the ground. Most of it was rooms, though; all but a few of the most secure connected to this hallway in some manner. It was straightforward and hidden away, and one could hardly even tell it was subterranean—except for windows, she thought. There were no windows here.

The sound of trotting footsteps from behind made her just barely glance to the side, her hand tightening about the polished wood it held. It wasn't long before someone fell into step beside her, but she never missed a stride. Even when the other young woman touched her shoulder familiarly, she merely twitched and leveled her eyes ahead.

"Hey, there you are. Doing okay?"

"Why should I be anything else?" she asked, her voice quiet and cool, deceptively unaffected.

The brunette human tilted her head and leaned forward just a bit with a crease through her brow. "I heard you had a rough time of it."

"I'm fine."

"That's it? C'mon, Flare. What happened? You were out of contact for a long time, but no one seems to know why. I've been trying to find you since I got back. All Echo could tell me was that he saw you coming back the other day with Fang."

"Echo should mind his own business, as should everyone else around here," Flare replied rather tersely. She was in a far from sociable mood. She hadn't been since her return, and she wasn't sure she ever would be again when it came to this place. Still, she drew a breath and continued.

"It was a mistake, Dusk. That's all. And yes, before you ask, said mistake has been corrected." She knew that the events surrounding her last mission had been kept very purposefully vague, and she had no desire to expound on them herself. Whether she liked it or not, she was part of the Circle again, and if it was going to be bearable at all, she would just as soon keep that particular incident to herself.

Dusk stopped dead in the hall and, with one hand wrapped around her elbow, forced her to stop, too. The other woman came around to stand before her, frowning brown eyes searching her face. "Yeah," she conceded slowly, "but you don't make mistakes, Flare. That's what I don't get. You're quick and smart and ridiculously careful, and you had a plan, and it wasn't exactly a royal assassination you were trying to pull off."

"If you're trying to imply my incompetence—"

"I'm not. Geez, Flare, I'm trying to figure out what could _possibly _have gone so wrong for you. I mean, Claw's been strutting around like a little girl with a new dress, but I've never known a better mind than yours. And yet here you are, skulking down the hall all by yourself, looking like you want to be anywhere but here behind that ice queen thing of yours. Talk to me. After what happened to you before Altamira, and then this, on your first mission since then, I know you're feeling the strain. Everyone hits patches, and I'm... I'm worried about you."

Flare took in every line on the earnest face with a detached expression of her own. If all of this really were a trick, a lie, everyone would have to be in on it. She was supposed to have been part of this organization for some time, and everyone here acted like they knew her. It would take an impractical amount of effort and coordination, and all for just the simple purpose of fooling _her_? It didn't make sense. But she __didn't __want to be here, and she didn't know how to trust them anymore. The uncertainty was maddening.

If only she had not been the one assigned to that trivial heist in Altamira. If only she had never collided with him.

"…Was it a guy?"

The voice that had turned almost sly pulled her back to the present as heat flushed through her face unwelcome and unbidden. She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as her free hand fisted behind her back. "No," she stated, "it was not 'a guy.' May I go now?" She was not dragging his name back into this.

Dusk leaned forward and drew a soft gasp. "It__was__, wasn't it? You met someone on the island and it was love at first sight! Aww, Flare… That's so cute!"

"That's enough, Dusk. "

Both women looked up and back toward the approaching voice. Fang was coming toward them, his hands linked behind his back and an easy smile on his face. He looked so comfortable and confident, at home. Flare felt a muscle twitch in her jaw and turned her face away rather pointedly. The two of them had hardly spoken since their return, and the sight of him tightened several lines through her body. The misgivings she had about him were the worst part of all of this. She fought the voice that called him a villain, but she couldn't silence it completely.

She knew he had glanced her way, and knew he was looking at her again, but he addressed Dusk. So she listened, but she remained like a sentry as the other two spoke.

"You and Ice have the watch. Think you can handle the night alone with him?"

"Ice cream? No problem. He's _a softy_."

Flare closed her eyes with a silent groan, resisting the urge to plant her palm over her face at the abysmal pun. The exasperation evaporated, however, when Fang's quiet chuckle sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

"Maybe I should have asked if he could handle the night with you. Do you actually call him that to his face?" Folding his arms, the man leaned sideways against the nearby wall.

"When opportunity knocks." She practically sang the words, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. "It's really too bad you didn't ask me before you gave him his Second. I'm the very font of creativity, you know."

He hummed in amusement. From the corner of her eye, Flare watched him gesture toward her with a flick of his chin. "I didn't do so badly this last time. She tell you about the present she got the other day?"

Present.__Bribe___?_ The corner of her mouth twitched derisively before she could restrain the thought. Dusk's mouth had popped open, and she now stared at her outright.

"You got your Second? Why didn't you say something?! For goddess' sake, you are such a closed book. Same old Flare. Guess I'm not really that surprised."

Yes, same old Flare, she thought bitterly. Whatever the hell that meant. Was there even an "old Flare"? She still had no idea.

Despite herself, she felt the slightest start pass through her body when Fang came forward to put his hand on her shoulder and derail the halting train of thought. She wasn't oblivious to the gentle squeeze, either, but she merely dipped her head and replied with a soft, ambiguous, "Apparently." She glanced down the hall over her free shoulder restlessly; she wanted out of this hallway, out of this moment...

"…Well? Are you going to share, Your Highness?"

She stiffened at the tease of a title, her brow furrowing slightly as she finally looked back at Dusk. She was seeing something else, though.

Pink and black and red. Someone bowed to her in jest.

_Her Highness..._

"Come on. I need to know what to call you now—"

"I'm going on ahead. " The tension had finally mounted to its peak, and as she jerked her head to one side to banish this vague, meaningless snatch that left her more unsettled than she could even justify, she decided she had had enough. Without waiting for a word from either of them, she stepped around Dusk and continued on as she had been going before the ambush. Her face was smooth and stony, but her eyes, staring straight ahead with scarcely a blink, were hard and anxious. She heard the lowered, unintelligible voices behind her but ignored them. Fang had stopped the prying questions, and she felt reasonably sure he wouldn't then turn around and tell the story anyway.

She just wanted this whole episode put behind her. Raine Sage, Regal Bryant—none of it mattered. None of it could matter anymore.

Flare slipped through a door and took the short set of stairs leading downward to her right, all the while taking slow and deliberate breaths. She knew well the way to her leader's chamber. He called it his "office," but having spent a night cooped up in one, she also knew it bore little resemblance to its namesake. The most striking similarity, actually, was the presence of bookshelves along one wall. Shelves to which, once upon a time, she had been allowed eager access while a chuckling man looked on. Now she just stared at them wearily for a few seconds, took a single, half-hearted step toward them, and then turned away to find a place in the corner to plant herself and wait while she tried to ground herself again.

She had been summoned, presumably for a mission briefing. Perhaps she could have asked Fang about it in the hall, but there had been a level of casual camaraderie in that hall that had promised far more small talk than she cared to share. So she folded her arms tight over her torso, rested the sole of one foot back against the wall, and locked her eyes squarely on the floor.

The minutes passed without breaking her solitude. She tried not to think at first, just rubbing her heel absently against the wall. When she did glance up idly after a little while, however, she caught sight of the scattered papers and maps strewn over a low table and several chairs. He was a smart man, a cunning man, but he enjoyed a certain level of disorganization. Ordinarily it wouldn't mean much to her, other than the passing thought that such disarray would drive her crazy—but this time, a tiny notion wriggled up into the back of her mind and planted itself, not easily dismissed once it had risen. The longer she let her eyes trail over the pages from across the room, the clearer the question became:

Was it possible there was something in this room, in the Circle's records, files, and intelligence…that was relevant to her?

Flare lowered her foot slowly and looked sideways at the closed door, her pulse quickening just a little. Some information was clearly understood to be off-limits unless shared, specifically and intentionally, by their leader himself. It was unthinkable to rifle through whatever was in here on one's own—or rather, it had been a few weeks ago. Now it was a great temptation. She tapped her fingers gently, a little nervously, against her thigh and chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. It wasn't exactly strange that she felt such hesitation; after all, despite how foolish it now seemed to have trusted this place, these people, unconditionally, the fact was that she _had_. But she had to know, and there was nothing between her and this unsanctioned research project. At least for now.

She pushed away from the wall and almost surprised herself with how quickly she crossed the room. Glancing toward the door again fleetingly, she bent over the table and began flipping through some of the papers. There were scouting and recon reports, lists, several pages of what would look to an untrained eye like nothing more than random numbers. But after she had slid aside several of these, her fingertips found a small packet. There in the corner, after she had tugged it a little further into view, she could make out the name, _Raine Sage, and her _heart skipped a beat. Unable even to blink, she lifted the bound sheets in both hands and stared at that name.

The soft__click __of the closing door startled her like a guilty child and made her spin around, the papers crinkling at the edges where her fingers closed more tightly around them. Fang stood there, one hand on the knob and eyes not on the object of her quasi-theft, but on her face. He almost looked…sad.

"Well. You're certainly as curious as ever."

Flare pulled turned her quarry around to display the name scrawled in his own handwriting, barely letting him finish before demanding in a tight, deadly murmur, "What is this?" Her voice shook ever so subtly, and she searched his face even when he brought a hand up to rub at his forehead.

He started slowly toward her, extending one hand in a gentle and unassuming gesture one might use to comfort a friend. Unfortunately, she felt more like a cornered animal. "Flare—"

"_What is it_?" she snapped. She took a step back, holding the packet in only one hand now but still displaying it very clearly for him to see.

He raised both of his own palms in a passive stance and stayed where he was. His eyes found hers and held them for a few quiet seconds. It was a silent request for patience, but one to which she made no obvious response. "That," he began quietly, "is what I wanted to talk to you about. And if you'll stop glaring at me for a minute, I'll explain."

"Then explain."

Fang took a deep breath and ambled over to lower himself on the arm of a chair whose seat was part of the clutter. Leaning forward on one thigh, he looked back up at her. "It's been three days, Flare. You've hardly said a word since we left Altamira. I knew you were upset and confused. I had just hoped being back home would help you forget about it. ...About him."

She stiffened again. "This isn't about anyone but _me_—"

"You're wrong, Flare. This is about Bryant and a woman who has been _dead _for four months."

Her grip slackened a bit, and her glower followed suit. "D…dead?" Lips parted, her gaze fell to the papers in her hand. The chair creaked when he pushed back to his feet to come toward her.

"I tried to tell you." He touched her arm. "He was playing you, Flare. I knew you had gotten…attached to him, and I thought it was best to just get you out of there as soon as possible. But you weren't the same…so we did some digging on that name he was spewing." Fang tapped the corner of the packet with his free hand. "Raine Sage. Half-elf, sister, Hero of Regeneration. Most of what he told you was truth, Flare—but it wasn't about __you__."

Flare looked up absently, then back down at the papers, stalled. That wasn't possible. With a distracted, fumbling grasp, she flipped the front page aside and stared at the map drawn on the next. One tiny village was circled, with a line to a list of achievements and events written in the margin. The achievements and events of a woman who…was dead? "Iselia," she mumbled. The village they were going to visit.

"Yes. She lived in Iselia for five years before the worlds were reunited. We even found the burnt-out shell of the hovel she shared with her little brother."

"…Genis…"

"Is nothing to you. He doesn't even know you exist. _We _are the only family you have, Flare. Bryant was feeding you someone else's life from the start, because there was no one there to contradict him. He did know her. He was one of those so-called heroes. And you were vulnerable. He was able to impose upon your fragmented memory the identity of a dead woman. Think about it: Did you ever speak to anyone other than him?"

Had she? Not really, come to think of it. Perhaps the authorities who had incarcerated her in the first place, but they certainly didn't seem to know her. The rest of the time, she had been hidden away in his home or walked about the town like a dog on a leash. "…N-no…"

"Why do you think that is? If you were this 'Raine,' and you were in the distress he claimed, shouldn't his first response have been to call your brother straight to the island? Yet you were with him for weeks. Did he ever once mention any such plan to you?"

She shook her head vaguely, her brow drawing more and more.

"Of course not. Because you are not Raine Sage and he had no intention of doing so. Flare, you are smarter than this. You and this woman share a race, a gender, and a magical affinity, and that's all. You've trusted me until now, and I'm asking you to trust me again. I've never asked anything of you that you felt incapable of doing. I know you're confused, but just…look at what we found. It's all there. I wish it weren't, because I know you wanted to believe him, but just look."

She stared at him as he took a tiny step backward and nodded at the stack in her hand. Everything he said made sense—but everything Bryant had told her had made sense at the time, too. So what made this different? Slowly, perhaps reluctantly in an idiotic way, she tugged the Sylvaranti map aside and pawed through the rest of the pages.

Her perusal started out slow and cautious, but there was so much there. It was like tumbling downhill, gathering speed with no ability to stop. Names and dates that meant nothing to her, but apparently had meant a great deal to __someone__; letters from people she didn't know as well as some apparently written by Sage herself, in a hand she had never seen before. She went over and over the contents of the reconnaissance, not even realizing that by the end she was almost desperate for something to click and spark images like she had seen in that dream. Nothing did, though. It was all a blank, and the final page clinched it.

She was looking at someone else's life and legacy, and none of it…had anything to do...with her.

Flare let all of the other sheets fall into a heap at her feet as she stared at the certificate of death she held. It bore the seal of Sylvarant's only known centralized government—every one of them was drilled until they could pick it out down to the minutest detail for the purpose of keeping tabs on official correspondence between countries. There was absolutely no mistaking it. "'The Office…of the Governor-General,'" she read faintly, "'in tandem with…the Holy Church of Martel… Palmacosta…in the Sovereign Nation of Sylvarant… This is to certify that the Esteemed Lady, Professor Raine Sage, is deceased…and has been buried with full rites and...and honors...appropriate…for…'" Her voice finally trailed away, unable to continue.

At the bottom were the names of both Sylvarant's Governor-General and the official responsible for the document's creation, printed and signed. Deaths in or near Palmacosta were treated with more ceremony and procedure than anywhere else in the nation, as she understood; it was the only true city, and the home of all efforts to create a country-wide government. But that meant there was no mistake. Nothing this deliberate could be a mistake.

The only sound she could hear, in spite of Fang saying her name, was the rustling of paper in trembling fingers.

He had lied to her. He really had lied to her.


End file.
